…but my hands remember hers.
I passed a homeless man on my way home tonight and I gave him some change from my wallet. I spent the remaining dollar and seventy cents in change on bananas from a bodega where I know the cashiers and they can tell when I’m drunk because I look at my feet when they ask if I would like a bag, paper or plastic. I told the man on the sidewalk to have a good night and he stuffed the bill in a cup and also looked down at his own feet. part of the time I am convinced I am looking straight ahead, more so now than this time a year ago, but I know most of us are more attuned to the ground than to anything else. it’s easy to look down and it’s easy to look over a shoulder and it’s easy to bend at the command of a memory. mine are murky and not because I can’t remember, but the details fudge together and what is more important over the course of thirty-six months: an inpatient hospitalization, a broken parent, a sum of debt, a legal battle, personal health and wellness, an academic record, a grocery shopping list? the right conversation at the right time? a crosswalk signal? I say yes more than I say no lately, at least that’s how it feels, and I feel more full. yet I feel just as dull around the edges, even at the peak of place or a person or a thing. I tap my wrist and say “stop doing all of this” or “start doing more of that” and it’s fruitless, I’m inexperienced and stupid and I have no idea what I’m doing! I want to grow up, I’m terrified, or I want to be ignorant, I’m very calm. this is all over the place and it’s a place I can’t quite place. not necessarily near a home but in pursuit of a balanced ideal. fruitless, sure, and satisfactory at best. how am I doing?