Thank you so much, subscribers who support my writing financially. Without you, I’d not be able to write as much. Here is a chapter from my upcoming book. Sending you all love.
Near our apartment was the greenbelt: a gully of cedars and oaks, limestone and scorpions. Trails cut by deer and rabbits. Coyotes, squirrels, and snakes. An occasional bobcat or stray dog—an array of men wearing dark sunglasses and hats. They darted like skittish rodents through tufts of Little Bluestem and Poison ivy, imperiled in the coverless stretches between weeds and sky. Disappearing into the brush, they’d peek over their shoulders and gesture for me to follow; a quick jut of the chin or come-hither of fingers was all it took.
I’d cruise the highway, these trails tickling me like an itchy throat. At first, I’d try to ignore them. Then, they’d tangle themselves around my ankles and overtake the pedals. Next, I’d be holding my breath, braking, and signaling an exit. Scratching at the insides of my car to be wild in that humid emptiness ahead: where an occasional chirp of a bird, a stick falling through leaves, and passing whir of vehicles brought into sharp focus just how much space truly exists on the other side of denial.
My body while driving, a liminal creature—now—my only chance to be teeth and nails.
So I’d exit the highway, knowing what I’d do. A solitary road ahead wound into untamed woods. Animals there were not governed by the tyranny of conscience. I’d have to hurry and get out of that car, where guilt had me on the verge of rerouting toward home.
On a gravel swath off the pavement, I’d park. A few minutes to spare before completing the originally intended errand; like picking up almond milk or dropping a rent check through the mail slot of our property management office. I’d climb out of our hunter green Honda Civic into the sun, stones grinding beneath my shoes. The flesh dangling between my legs now hot and crawling through the edges of my underwear, shoving its way in front of me. It’d found me again, that urge to dissolve my life; paradoxically, nothing else made me feel so alive like breaking my word to never do it again.
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