The Call of…

(mental health and mentions abuse)

Halfway there, this shouldn’t feel so hard. My mailbox is looking like a tomb. The dew-covered grass hugs my feet. Whispers of movement whistle endlessly around me. Snap out of it and keep moving. I strain my mind. My body stops moving; my soul floats up. I want to stop everything. The wind rushes to keep me up; rushes to keep me together. It’s like I’m an air pocket inside an upside-down bucket pushing down in a stream. I don’t want my mind. But, “SHIT!” my leg. My skirt get caught on my mailbox covered in barbed wire. Why does this always happen to me? Air tickles my nose. I wipe my nose a little too harsh. My mailbox is empty. The ground, however, is not. The stupid weeds made my legs itch.

It seems like the soft wind pushes me forth. The grass hugs my feet, and the clouds tiptoe forward like opening crawl. Moving closer to the door makes me want to run two streets back. That is silly; it's more like Jogging back. This would be so stupid to get all scared over. I'm not afraid of my husband. I need to borrow the car.

Karin will be stranded at school if I cannot pick her up. Breathing in the fresh air, I conjure the strength to stomp up the doorstep. A glitch in my confidence leaves me hovering my hand on the rusty doorknob. I had been clutching my house key in my hand for a while.

Well, maybe he won't even let me borrow the car. He’s just going to yell at me to walk? Well, I don't think I've been too bad this week. A weird sensation prickles on my palm. I turn hand over just to see a thin layer of flaky grime. I ponder about opening the door and asking but I’m too much of a chicken.

I’ll go walk on the new trail while I wait for school to end for Karin. She’s such a kind girl. She deserves better than to tend to my wounds. I should be the one tending to hers.

“OK, today is a good day,” I tell myself. Even though I don’t believe it and never will. The wind picks up and dances with the trees. Before I know it I’m at the park. There are a dozen or more people sprinkled throughout.

A man with well well-groomed large beard approaches me. He looks like a TV commercial perfect lumberjack.

“Hello there,” he gives a big fat smile. What if he wants to kill me and sell my organs? My intrusive thought must be throwing a party. “what are you doing here?” He continues when I take too long to respond. Doesn’t seem like he’s in shape to kidnap someone’s carnival fair goldfish. Maybe that's a beer belly and he needs to kidnap me to harvest my liver? I need to stop.

My skin starts to feel hot; I can’t tell if that's because I’m freaking myself out or the humid ninety-seven-degree weather. Did the wind die down? After a moment of awkwardness, I speak.

“Hi,” I say with my hands clutched, mentally hitting myself. That didn’t come out as friendly sounding as I wanted it to. I clear my throat and continue talking. “I’m going on the trail.” Tall vivid green grass clutches around my dull purple-ish ankles.

“Cool.. I’m Chadiffer.” He exclaims. I get ready to respond but suddenly he starts whipping his head around. I start glancing around too when I feel a cold prick on my head.

“It’s raining,” Chadiffer says like it’s some sort of scientific discovery. I keep my mouth shut but his next words make me roll my eyes. “the trail is too unsafe to walk on now.” He says. 'Let's..." He takes a step towards me. The rain has picked up its pace. He must’ve gotten a hint when I sidestepped him. After clearing his throat and tilting his chin up a bit pointedly he leaves saying, “See you around, I guess.” 

Miles of grey clouds in every direction tell me this isn’t adventure going to be soft. I glance in the direction he went to see him walking slowly in an almost comical way away. It’s almost like he thinks I’ll follow. I erase him from my mind.

Mud kicks up on my legs as I run into the trail.

I try to keep my mind empty. Places like this make Hawaii feel like a jungle. The wind whistles loudly in my ears. I hope Karin won’t be embarrassed by me when I pick her up. Will she need help carrying her diorama? Dread fills my stomach. I’m a horrible mother. A large leaf falls on my head causing me to trip on a root sticking out.

I don’t get up. Next to me is a brown wooden fence. The clouds in the sky remind me of the bruises on my thigh, in looks and spirit. They are both such downers. Does Mother Nature ever wish the sky would be a little more down to earth about its feelings?

I hear music in my head. The Bongos bring me dread. Is it a celebration of recluse or is it an excuse to lose. It would make an exception for the goose floating and swirling around. Not making a sound the goose flys to the harp and turns to the symphony beyond it. The rain sheds lightly on all which lays before it. 

I stumble to the fence and climb over it. Fog fills up space wherever I look. The water crashes at the bottom of what is now revealed to be a cliff. The mud snuggles into my sneakers and my shirt clings onto me for dear life. Like maybe I’m supposed to give it a reason to. My phone goes off. The sound of ringing is barely an undertone compared to the thundering rain. After the ringing keeps going on I realize the only call I’m answering is the void.