A Single Bracelet

My internal dialog is raging today, like I finally found the switch at the back of my mind after months of straining and fumbling in the dark.  And, oh, the things tumbling out!  It’s a constant stream of… me.  It’s at once extremely comforting but lonely, like the kind of fort you build as a child, shoving the chairs together and throwing a quilt over the top, just enough room for you, your favorite stuffed animals and a few picture books.  You feel calm and safe yet hold your breath whenever someone passes through the room.  “Shhh!” you motion to the animals, “There’s only room for one!”

Tonight I crawled on my porch railing and waited for the “instant” pasta to boil on the fire.  I imagined another life again, this one in the future.  I saw myself standing in a sterile apartment in an anonymous American city, not unhappy but confused and slightly concerned.  How did I get there?  Did I have any friends?  What was I doing?  This didn’t seem right.

I hit repeat on the radio for the third time.

Until recently I’d hardly spent a night, especially a Friday night, at home.  But it’s just life now.  Eat rice.  Have soft drink.  Read.  Write.  Wander home and hug some pants-less kids.  Each day is a cookie cutter of each one before, slowly cranked out of some bland factory.

My old Sanniquellie feels so far away I struggle to distinguish reality from fantasy.  Did I really have an African sister those few short months?  Nah.  I must have been confused.  There’s only room for one in here.  It’s safe and cozy and you can’t come in.

Oh, give me the strength to keep pulling through this.

“A single bracelet does not jingle.”   ~ Congolese Proverb