Over the mountain

Going the back way I honk on tight corners of narrow dirt lane. Woods open to meadow and barn, a road now frost-heaved even in summer. As kids we called it the roller coaster road. Around the bend, up a steep hill: a one-room school house, a tiny chapel. A school, seared in memory.

One day, I don’t know why–I sat on the bed, in a room, in back of the dining hall. On the TV, a woman drove her mother into a lake. An old woman helpless. A child pees herself, so ashamed.

Scrubbing grout of same dining hall walls… Fast forward, new plump breasts. In fierce cold rain running the soccer field, collecting balls–punishment for that cigarette loving recklessly. My nipples were raw. The next spring Robin’s lungs gave up, the weight of just 23 years. Kristen fell into a coma and was dead two days later. Meningitis. She was 15, so was I. To lose both… Hard to process your own mortality then. I keep driving. Playing fields, expanse of sky. At night I walked four miles down this mountain, two times, to see the boy who had my heart.

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I hope you’ll excuse my indulging memory today, albeit in a contemplative way. And sorry for the lack of writing of late. Much material, no words.

An invitation to dialogue.

Posted by sharanam on June 28, 2011

https://sharanam.wordpress.com/2011/06/28/over-the-mountain/