Tonight, We Are Young

I’ve been feeling a little crowded lately, and my claustrophobia-driven instincts scream ‘run!’ pretty much most of the time. Of course, I don’t quite have the luxury of acting on them, although, in my head, I’m already far, far away.

I go about my day, running on autopilot, tending to each task monotonously, religiously, but every once in a while, in my mind, I shrug responsibility off my shoulders, like the leaden cloak it has suddenly become, and seek refuge in a time when I have felt completely unfettered...

Tonight, I am young. I am without the responsibilities that every new role, every new relationship, inevitably forges. I lounge easily with friends in a speeding car in the black of night, enjoying the wind in my hair, feeling freer than I ever will, again. There is laughter, there is careless banter, there is friendship. We drive through an unending, unlit, desolate road...white headlights racing before us, the radio spinning out ‘The Living Daylights’ at insane decibels. We are high on youth...unafraid of tomorrow, unmindful of consequences, and blissfully content in the moment.

The moment passes; I am back to now, making mental notes as I stir the tea on the stove. I need to pick up eggs for breakfast tomorrow, write out Maths practice sheets for the kid, get the laundry done, complete an article the client had demanded yesterday, and oh, wait, no sugar to be added to this tea, for the diabetic elders. My cellphone rings then, and I smile when I see the familiar name. I pick up the phone, knowing he will be the first to speak, as always...

I hear the familiar voice of an old friend, and draw strength from the friendship, and from the million remembrances of youthful, unencumbered days that his phone call evokes. And just like that, my heart feels lighter, and responsibilities don't seem that daunting anymore. I become, once more, the person I used to be...the girl in that car, who had not a care in the world, and the world at her feet, talking animatedly to the boy steering the car that night, so many eons ago.

Tonight, we are 19, again. And life is still brimming, with possibilities.

Scars and Souvenirs

She walked down that road again, the one she’d gone down so many times already, in her mind. This time, her feet complied; sure, steady steps, which in her mind had been haltering, hesitating, every single time – until the last.

A drab wooden box, unadorned and plain, lay at the end of this path. She lifted it slowly, caressed it almost lovingly, then opened it to look into her memories. A bundle of old letters, tied together by a ribbon of the softest pink looked back; a bundle of letters that had once been written by a caring hand, and delivered with an almost reverent touch.

She paused for a long moment, her prize in her hands, and untied the ribbon holding it together. The letters came loose, slipped and fell in sheets around her. She knelt down, offered a few, final glistening drops of grief as tribute to something precious, though long gone, and began collecting them, one by one.

Each letter revived a lost moment; each line in blue brought back a sentiment. But she dismissed the kaleidoscope of images that threatened to dilute her resolve and with a stubborn hand, thrust them into the hungry flame of a grey wax candle. The pale, ageing papers crackled, turned inward, singed, and then burned. And somewhere in the curling smoke that rose from it, evanesced the hopes and dreams of a younger, more innocent girl at a happier time.

The smoke briefly cast an illusive shadow of a face from the past...once intensely loved, immensely trusted, and then dissipated into nothingness.

He had not asked, not said a word before he had gone away, nor had he explained why, and she had been unable to completely give him up. This time though, she could willingly let him go. She would willingly release his memories.

And in doing so, finally, be set free.

But Your Angel Flew Away...

“Deep down
I've always loved empty cages
reminding me
of angels who capture sparks
and learn to fly off.
A pattern of flashes
once kept on leashes
released.”

- Kathy Ostman-Magnusen