Wednesday, May 08, 2013

EDGEWORK

She sat in the big chair and talked: about discord and disappointments and the myriad ways people sometimes let us down. The more she talked, the more I relaxed, and the more her face was covered with writing — delicate scribblings that reminded me of a cross between kanji and hieroglyphics.

I really shouldn't be having this drink, I thought, but the haze was too thick for me to disobey my hand, as it brought the glass to my lips for another swallow. And the haze grew thicker.

Friday night, and SoCal is hanging with the Old Man, helping celebrate the end of a long year and the beginning of a new one. It is late and it is early and it is nice to not do anything but listen. There is no pressure to be the entertainment; I am no longer the court jester for a quiet queen. I am grateful for the company of a good friend.

There are still moments, to be sure, when I find myself looking around, searching for ... what? Of this I am not sure. My friend is enjoyment enough. Yet I find myself on the edge of a truth that still hasn't shown its full face. What lies ahead is still a mystery.

And that's OK, I tell myself. It's alright not to know. Good enough to live on the edge of life and enjoy the experience as it happens. Good to not always be anticipating something that's not likely to happen. For the first time in what seems like forever I am starting to find my center. I am starting to let time and distance cover life's landscape with dust. Sharp edges are being blunted. My empire of dirt is growing.

Only later, when I am alone, do I look at the pictures. "Thanks, baby," I say, and we have a murmured conversation. Dawn breaks. So do I.

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