two roads divided

I will admit I already know this maybe one of those short stories which will get me in trouble.  Let’s just skip the lectures they obviously do no good.  And in fact I think that is the point of this: I clearly pick my roads.  Given the choice I always lean the same direction.  I deviate predictable.

Once upon a time I was going running even though I didn’t feel well.  It was well past noon and the list of foods eaten by me could all be written by using 4 letters (some more than once): C, O, F, & E.  

A block away from home as I began to truly run I noticed Little Dog had slipped out the fence and was running with me.  I returned her home and began again this time alone.

It went smoothly for a bit.  My feet felt sluggish and my back too tight, my shoulder feeling like a rubber band about to give way: details, scars, reminders of life. I was happy and the sun was trying.

Around the first dim corner where the river smell lingers and mixes with the odors of an old cow barn I saw a man walking oddly.  Meth walking.

From behind I could plainly see how big he was.  I thought of the dog I had turned back.  In the distance a single stern train whistle escaped the yard.  I had to make a decision: turn back myself or keep going.  In reality there was never a question.  I ran past him faster than I had been going and moved farther than I wanted to spilling out onto California Ave. spent from the sprint but still running.

I skipped the formality of the crosswalk and took my shot through a gap in the traffic to put more space between the meth walking man and myself.  I went on my way down river.

On the way back, this time facing him head on, the meth walking man was coming towards me and it was evident he was watching me intently.  I scanned the trail which at that point lead into either a long stretch behind tall fences and smothered in even taller trees, little more than a glorified alley, or alternatively a street lined with friendly houses.  The man watched me his eyes moving with mine as I scanned isolation alley and the street.

I picked the alley knowing if I needed to I could out running him and equally knowing how untrue that was.  I understood the whole weight of the chance I was taking and how badly I would regret it if something went wrong but I never doubted my decision to stay on course and run along the river. 

When I reached the corner and the isolation was spread less thin I turned to see if he had followed me but I covered too much ground to see where I had started from.  I will never know how close I was cutting it or if there was any real threat at all.  But I do know for my own sanity I have to be allowed to make my own decisions no matter how crazy the people around me feel about it.  This is more honest than I will have ever been and probably the most honest I will ever be again: in my head I am always in the middle of a war zone.  When you look at me across the room, minus some very rare exceptions, I am only half there.  In my mind I never left the world that haunts me.  And in my darkest moments I am afraid that might actually be true and all this is the illusion.

When you don't believe in anything it is hard to know things, hard to be sure.  You have to do a lot of testing.  A lot of looking back over your shoulder.  A lot of wondering which roads are right, and which roads you have left.

I live two lives and actually all thing considered I think I am doing a pretty good job at both.