going the distance and wiping the board.

"Come to the tree on the dirt road and we'll meet in the treetops," you used to say to me. "I'll be counting the leaves and branches while I wait." I guess you ran out of limbs. And all the leaves have fallen off. Walking towards the giant escape, I can clearly see you're not up there anymore but I continue walking. Maybe you'll be hiding behind the trunk, getting ready to jump out and yell "SURPRISE!" So I keep walking.

The dirt has turned to sand and my feet sink with each step; toes disappearing beneath me. I should have worn shoes. But you said bare feet were the only way to travel; it shows the real journey, every step of it. Roughness building up around my heels. I begin a light jog as I get closer. The tree grows bigger and my jog turns to a sprint. I'm running before I know it. The lady at the front desk of my middle school used to say I should have been on the track team. Will you stand at the finish line? Give me something to run to.

I reach the tree and survey the top. No sight of you. The leaves crunch beneath my feet. Proof I was there, you would say. I walk around the trunk. Again and again. But you're nowhere to be found. I guess you gave up waiting for me. Not that I blame you. Many seasons passed with no change but the leaves for indication. Call me a late bloomer. One leaf is still holding fast to a limb at the very top. So I begin to climb. It's my only hope. If I can retrieve it, maybe you'll know that I traveled the distance and sands of mistakes to return it to you.

I can hear your voice in the bark. Your mark left in the creases of each limb, each branch, each crevice. It gives me strength. My arms are weak and my legs are beginning to tire but I have to climb. The thought of you drifts in and out; like a strengthening memory, stronger and more visible each time.

I reach the leaf but it crumbles at my touch. Falls in tiny pieces to the ground. Too late, again.

A cry comes from overhead. I look up to see a brilliant hawk. As big as an airplane to my untrained eye. I watch as she sweeps to and fro. Higher and then shooting down like she's testing me. Begging me to get the courage. Swopping closer each time. I gauge her distance and wait for the right moment.

JUMP!

Clinging to her, my arms draped around her neck, body laying parallel to her back. Hold on tight. This was somehow easier than trying to climb the tree. Maybe because I don't know where she's taking me, where she will land. I'm putting all of the trust I have in her to carry me to where I'm meant to be.

We must have traveled for months. Drifting in and out of consciousness. In and out of sleep. You still linger in the questions I have. She begs me to hold on, not let go, keep the journey going. I would cling for a lifetime and pray for a clean slate.

 

 

"I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have it all; my money, my time, my body, my talk, my dogs money. I will assume your debts and reject upon you all sorts of nifty qualities you never actually cultivated in yourself. I will give you all this and more until I am so exhausted and depleted. The only way I can recover is by becoming infatuated with someone else."

- Elizabeth Gilbert