Beats Entropy

CONTINUED FROM PART 1 and  CONTINUED IN PART 3

There were three killers in my freshman class: two soldiers, and a hobbyist. The hobbyist hung himself in jail; the soldiers died in non consecutive incidents of friendly fire. I can’t help but think the hobbyist had the more successful life; if nothing else he had control and purpose. The soldiers just were until they weren’t. This makes me feel unpatriotic. As does my lack of patriotism. There should be a word for wanting to have pride in something: maybe wan…tide. Wantide: that works, like a tide too weak to reach the shore. I’ve been walking for hours, why can’t I find my house?

When you can’t feel your feet you have to listen for when to take the next step. I learned the proper slap…step…march through trial and error. Initially it was more of a crash…fuck…stand. But I adapted.

Four hundred steps, and fewer crashes, carried me forward. My knees were worn through. It occurred to me nothing was familiar. Had I belonged I would have been lost. As it stood, I was not where I wanted to be. A cab slowed to a stop beside me. I don’t think I hailed it; I was glad to get in. It made things seem real. He said “where to”: I handed him my wallet and asked he take me home. He seemed sad.

My bleeding knees were an embarrassment. The tan slacks now matched the burgundy pull over: I was unsettled by the salesgirls prescience. For all their callous disposal of my corpse, you had to respect their commitment to fashion. I pushed away that line of thought, I hadn’t the bearing for those airs. Small talk bubbled up, then fractured into a pounding, bus stop-guy, poetry. I pulled it back; filled the silence by humming along to news talk radio. There was a war on and it had a beat you could dance to.

The cabbie stopped the car and tossed me my wallet. I fumbled my way to the ground, crawling. Wheel flung rocks sprayed my cheek: mean pitted little things, that had clearly yearned to take flight. This must have been my house; the numbers swam, but the door looked familiar. I sat on the porch and waited. For something.