Session Five
I’m Not Ready! I’m Not Ready!
In order for people to move on, stories have to move forward.
We don’t have to like it, hell we could fight it kicking and screaming.
Like that changes a damn thing. Time moves anyway.
It’s not like I haven’t tried to turn the page. I have, several fucking times. But some hooks are too deep to fish out, so my story is filled with guts.
Bloody. Bruised. Burned. Guts.
You don’t seem to mind though, do you?
Love’s brutal, and we can’t get enough.
When I met Paige, it felt like a sign from God. Swear on my life. I mean, of all the places I could’ve been annoying, stamping my photographs everywhere like a graffiti artist to brick walls, it was her building. Her project.
“Oops –” I mouthed, barely, as she walked up the sidewalk and spotted me vandalizing her company property.
But to my surprise, she didn’t even bat an eye.
She walked right up to me, side by side we stood, staring at my polaroid collage.
A snapshot of everyday living, the most mundane of things.
Grocery carts tipped over at bus stops, foliage collecting mildew in storm drains.
Black and white, grainy, selective. And then people, rich people, with security and little dogs that bark at shadows. All in color.
“What’s this contrast?” Paige had asked.
“A penchant for art?” I retorted.
She turned to me. “Good art,” then back to the collage. “The kind that notices things others don’t.”
Now, I was curious. “Who are you?”
“The better question is,” she laughed, “who are you?”
…
In order for people to move on, stories have to move forward.
We don’t have to like it, hell we could fight it kicking and screaming.
I’m not ready! I’m not ready!
But I recognize that voice.
The voice that held me back for so long, haunting me, dragging me towards the deep end.
I’m not ready! I’m not ready!
What if, you are?
What if, I am?
… Who is that?
You’re not ready! You’re not ready!
I know them. I know them well. But who is…
You’re ready. You’re ready, Beatrice.
What if –
I tune out my thoughts.
One step, then another.
One foot at a time, until it gets easier.
I don’t know who’s controlling it, but I know who isn’t.
And for the first time…
I don’t let him win.