I Trudge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore. I feel like I'm let down constantly. But, my goal isn't fame and fortune, it's love and peace. I have been found by a beautiful soul, wandering through the woods. Will she give me life? Or will she smile, and walk on away from me?
please. If possible, listen to this selection as you read.
http://youtu.be/3HZeoM8AOiM

Submitted: February 23, 2014

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Submitted: February 23, 2014

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I trudge.  The image I have is one of an old man pulling a sleigh of heavy wooden boxes and personal belongings from his prior home.  The soundtrack of The Renewing by Isaac Shepard is playing as he walks and falls and gets back up on this journey.  The gentle snow that was falling on his cap is now a cold sleet choking his every breathe falling horizontally against his stride, as if to say, ‘you will go no further’.This is my quest.  This is my dilemma:  Endeavor to persevere.In other words, keep trying!  My sleigh is cast iron and made of my great-grand father’s forged lifeline of carousing and womanizing.  It also carries my grandfathers’ lineage of drunkenness and larceny.  I can’t forget the rope that I pull this broken, heavy, warn sleigh which is made from my fathers’ abusive, need-to-be-accepted childhood of broken dreams.  On this vessel, I carry MY HEAVY BOXES:  fear of those around me, fight-or-flight mentality, and curiosity of substances deemed illegal and unsafe, and poor decision-making.  All of these crates are stuffed full and chained and nailed shut.  But, the nails are rusted and pulling away from the boards.  With each and every step and pothole, the chains and nails are jarring lose and need to be hammered back in and taped with bandages.  But, I lost my hammer a few hundred feet back and I’m out of bandages.  So I keep going.  I endeavor to persevere.

 The personal belongings are: my bedding from the beatings I accepted; the glass vase that was once a school award that I was proud of but, the bullies broke and laughed at me as I cried and fell to collect each piece I could; the lamp is the dreams of animating a two-hour movie with the characters I create and name but, my professor said I would never see that through. My pillows, table clothes, silverware and pots and pans are the three marriages and eight children that hate me and never want to be reminded of me for the rest of their lives. 

I want to lay this burden down.  Honestly.  I roam from town to town, cottage to cottage to see if anyone can help me to pry it off my cold, frozen shoulders and fingers.  I do get some comfort for a second or two when I’m offered a warm cup of coffee, a bowl of soup or just a friendly smile.  I move on. 

I’ve been traveling in darkness and unsteady trails for such a long time now.  It’s been weeks, or months – I can’t be quite sure which, that anyone has offered a friendly gesture of human kindness.  But, I endeavor to persevere.  

I see a light in the distance.  I follow it for hope.  I see smoke billowing from its’ stack of brick and mortar.  Will this be a refuge?  Will I gain calm warmth of soup in front of a friendly chimney fire?  It seems like life is going on inside.  Should I knock and pray for the luxury of a respite?  I’ll go on!  I can’t bear the thought of another disappointment.  I won’t be laughed at again – but, wait.  What if they welcome me?  I can hear laughter and merriment.  I’ll knock.  NO!  YES!  I just need a rest.  One deep breathe in my lungs:  Now, exhale.

(What should I do?)


© Copyright 2020 Macaroni Mario. All rights reserved.

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