And uhuh and amen. Somehow I never ever get ANY blogger notifications any more. I don't know why, I keep plugging on my poetry blog next door. Anyhow, I'm going to say something strange.
Nah. It wasn't strange. I deleted it. It was more off or odd or similar. Not ducky enough.
One time, I walked into a building mid-construction, and found stacks of two-inch-tall-by-four-inch-wide boards. They were really long, and I was a child at the time so I hit one of them with my clenched fist about as solid and hard as I was able because I wasn't walking, but running. I was chasing someone, or being chased, but man - that wham right on the stacked and packed ends of those boards.
It really put paid to whatever I was doing just then, and my whole hand was so tight and clenched, hot and throbbing that I couldn't unmake a fist. I had to just keep it like that for the time being. I showed the kid I'd been playing with. They touched it gingerly. Looked at me like "it's your hand." I was like I KNOW! Hurts like a damn bandit caught red-handed in an ill-advised burglary of the pain store! Got what I came for, but damn if I know WHY.
It hurt for days. My fingers were not into unbending, or bending again once unbent. I remember being in school with this weird hand, thinking about the unbuilt building (par-built, really) and how fun it all could have been in there, if I didn't swing my arms with such unfeigned enthusiasm, or had perhaps developed more situational body awareness vis-a-vis surrounding objects, or even - who knows? Improved hand-eye coordination? Could have helped?
It couldn't have hurt. Not any worse, anyway. What if somebody had yelled "Think fast!" as I ran in and a ball was flashing towards my head? And both hands flew up just in time - perfect catch!
As I flew by the stacked boards, not even realizing my close call. And - who threw the ball?
There was no one there. It was my guardian angel, maybe. But then I left the building and went home, and there was no one anywhere. The earth had been deserted, or everyone snatched up - eaten by angels? I was the only one left - or maybe in that moment everyone had been shunted aside into their own personal parallel planet of endless solitude, doomed to wander alone and eke out an aching sad lonely existence 'til death?
All told, I'll take it how it actually happened. It doesn't make much of a story, but it's a piece of a pretty good life. So far.
