(no subject)

Oct 04, 2006 00:50

Marveling at his own recent desire to punch everything in sight, he wandered along the stretch of concrete idly debating which way to turn. He found himself outside his best friends' old house, sold and bought years ago. Glancing up, he recalled vividly stretching on tiptoes, slipping on the oval rug, to see out the same window he was looking at.
Walking through the park seemed appealing, it was raining, and he figured he may as well clean off the bottoms of his shoes. He was beginning to be annoyed with himself, and tired of being so, though he could see no way around it. All attempts to talk about it had failed miserably. He couldn't very well resent people for ignorance. No matter how much it was tempting, it simply couldn't be reasoned.
The swings were wet. Flipping one over he sat and found out he didn't fit so well as before. Deciding it was foolish to have his feet dangling he moved to lower one and tried there, poking at the sand alternately with heel and toe . Angst was fine for a 15 year old, almost expected really, but 23? How could that be taken seriously. Especially for so small a reason. Like so many other transient feelings of frustration this one too would go unmentioned.
Kicking at the sand had somehow resulted in a slow swing. He began trotting his feet along the ground with each pass of the swing and soon was pumping in the air to get a bit higher. He probably looked ridiculous, a 23 year old sitting on a decrepit rubber swing at 1am in the rain. He'd done this before, on his first sleepover in grade 6. It made him want to laugh remembering how grown up they'd felt. What did make him laugh was remembering the look on his friends' mothers' face when she appeared at the end of the pathway. She seemed to have anticipated this from the beginning, and the sole purpose of her keeping herself from her bed was to end their sojourn as quickly as possible. It worked, they'd retreated to the tent, and fallen asleep debating whether or not spiders really crawled up your nose when you slept.
No longer pumping now, he considered jumping from the swing, but instead settled into an easy, thoughtful rhythm. There was no one to talk about this with really, but one. The same one whom he didn't think particularly wanted to hear from him, but nevertheless was unable to tear his thoughts from. Whether from a lack of will, confidence or common sense, he couldn't forget them. He'd already spent half an hour in front of an empty computer screen trying to write an email he knew he'd never even send. It was the whys that bothered him. More specifically the lack thereof.
The swing slowed to a stop. Having reached no conclusion, but feeling lighter than before he slipped off the swing and walked home.
Maybe kids did have the right of it.
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