to Other Dandelions

In the shade I'm glad I wore my jacket. My shoes step soft over the sidewalk. A steady, but not hurried, pace. The orange glow of evening sunlight on the sides of the houses and sharp off the windows as I walk through my neighborhood. The same route I have taken a few hundred times over the last three years. Down 13th. Up whatever that cross street is. Toward the football field. Toward the hospital. Into the park. To another of my benches. Another sacred secret, to sit, watch the clouds and the leaves, the sunset, and talk to gods or myself. 

To make peace.

A woman sings soft in my ear and a breeze slides across the back of my neck. I sit and close my eyes and feel the air on my hands and face. 

A weighted hum of something, anxiety or fear, loss or some unnameable emotion only known in portugese, grows in my chest trickling upward to the base of my skull. Slowly building. Slowly burning. I can't place it. I can't ignore it. Only sit on the bench, in the cooling late spring evening, and hope that it passes. 

Restlessness had pulled me from the house. An inability to occupy my time. 

Things were good. Becoming good, anyway. I had an optimism suddenly. I was painting again. Singing again. Thinking about the days and summer to come. I had hopes and interest and somehow, one unremarkable day, I had pulled myself from the tar. 

But

Now what?

Pace the house. Cook elaborate meals. Book shows and read and get to bed on time and smile with my friends and kiss a beautiful girl and there is sunlight through my windows now. Sunlight through my windows and days to come.

But now what? And what is this fucking hum?

I open my eyes and near me a woman in large black sunglasses is walking a large black dog through the grass and dandelions. The dog has his nose to the ground and the woman stares at her phone. Each in their own world, together. I watch them for a few gentle moments and then they slowly drift down the hill, to other dandelions. 

Am I in pain?

Am I nervous?

Am I waiting for it all to end?

I cross a leg over the other and take the music from my ears. Put the headphones away and listen to the park. The trees and traffic, breeze and evening. Soon I'd begin the walk home. Let the sun slip away just a little more, pick up my things, walk down the hill, and end the moment. But not yet.

A slow and deep inhale. A long and soft exhale.

This bench. This park. These trees and evenings. They've been mine and they could continue to be mine. I'd keep coming here. I'd keep making the climb past the football field and the hospital. Past the families at the playground and the college kids on their stoops. I'd keep shuffling through the long grass and up the blacktop path to be here. I'd keep doing it. I was going to be okay. I would keep coming here. Remind myself.

It doesn't need to end.

The hum is nothing. A lie I will someday shake. Nothing.

And now what? Now whatever I choose. As long as I can.