tethered hope

He always defined himself by his success, and why not? He had no major failures, only slight setbacks on the route to success. Everything came easily to him. Maybe that’s why it changed him so much. They walk past it every day, and he wonders if she wonders the same things he does. Does it work? Who is in the other end? Some days the box is closed, others it is open. Open today. Is this some strange ritual of strange people crying out? Is it just the wind? She probably doesn’t even think about it. Maybe she notices the graffiti on the outside, maybe only the box’s existence half way up the hill. But she definitely doesn’t see it the way he does.

Maybe the box is for comfort. Late at night, a stretch of street with no escape, peace of mind. If only it brought him comfort. He’s uncomfortably aware of his arms swinging awkwardly, his head’s unnatural cant toward the ground. Everything else a blur. He knows a new feeling today. Failure. Defeat. Brokenness. Whatever they call it. And it hurts. More than a normal person? He doesn’t know. He hopes it does for their sake. Today he walks past and knows why it didn’t save him. Pride. A tough swallow.

the walk

The footbridge is always the tensest part of the nocturnal journey. Perhaps it’s paranoia, but he rationalizes it with the semimonthly incident reports that tell the same story. Alone at night, large men in black clothes, guns or knives, and stolen wallets. The bridge itself is not altogether comforting, even in daylight. It is a temporary convenience, an amalgamation of steel and wood to replace the stone behemoth, recently declared structurally unsound, that normally traverses the tracks. To the observer, it is well lit; however, he can’t help but curse the blinding sodium as his feet strike the plywood floor.

The CSX train below shakes sole and soul, rendering the night silent with its thunder. Two useful senses gone, he has lost all advantage that his constant vigilance brings. Humoring himself, he flicks his tongue like a snake, vainly hoping to catch a hint of danger. That’s not his biology, but he is aware of his own. Bioelectricity through the sympathetic chain, adrenaline. A textbook in motion.

Sole reaches concrete, he reaches an approximation of peace. Left and right, there is nothing but empty street and sidewalk.

intercession