Full Circle

Let's run away!" she said, and he merely looked at her.

"Come on. Let's go somewhere, anywhere, let's just go!"

He gave her a puzzled frown, and she turned away, sighing. Her gypsy blood was whispering to her again, the fire in her mind starting to spark and pop. Her life had ever been a series of waves, and now she wanted to go, go, go. She was growing restless here, she was feeling caged. She could feel the endless days of monotony slowly rising up to strangle her, a choking vine of killer grey tendrils. She wanted to push at him, laugh and yell at him, hit him, kiss him, fuck him, fuck him madly, roughly, even angrily, to do something unexpected and shocking, just to make him respond with...something. To make him not only feel something, but show it. Anything but another day of mild passiveness. She gazed at the back of his head, and her face was a twisting mix of amusement and sadness and quick, jackrabbit thought.

He didn't understand. Had he ever understood? She thought he had, once upon a time, when she was the queen of a fairy-tale, not the hapless, absurd subject of a local paper's human interest story. She had always felt there was something inside her, something flaming and glowing and huge inside her head, just waiting to get out. She knew she was capable of big things, so she never thought on the small scale. Truth be told, she never questioned the fact there was a smaller scale. She had felt something coming full circle the past few years, and she hadn't seen its shape until recently, but now she could. It was her, a younger her, a more idealistic and compassionate her--the her she had lost over the years, and the her she had struggled so mightily to find again. She wanted to get lost in the marketplace of an ancient city somewhere, to get her hands dirty in the muck of some small town in Africa as she scratched out English letters in the dirt, to donate every drop of her sweat and tears and blood to helping the desperately poor, the unlearned, the scared and the broken and the lost.

Go West, young woman. Go North, South, and East. She wanted to see the world, and why not? She had come to a slowly dawning decision, this year--this was not the life she wanted. It never had been, and she had just put the life she had wanted on hold for a while, convincing herself it was time to settle down and be "normal". But she realized she couldn't do it. Not that she wouldn't, but couldn't. Not forever. It had quietly been creeping up on her, the thought that she wasn't sure she could handle a life like it, so sedate, so unchanging, forever, without losing her damn mind. Without going crazy batshit off-the-walls stark raving destroy her relationship destroy her life mad, just to feel again, to burn. To again become one of Kerouac's Roman candles which lit up the sky. She couldn't deny it any longer. She was never meant for the calm, steady pace at which most people lived their lives. She looked at most of those people, and felt for them--they were miserable. And most said, "You have to stop being so idealistic." or "You have to settle SOMETIME." or "Just accept it's life."

NO. She didn't want that life. Her very atoms shrank back against the thought, and some small, trapped creature inside her (my soul; it's my soul she thought) shrieked out in broken misery.

She could feel it, this year. Standing at the outpost sign on the road that had stretched through the years of her life. This one read "The Rest of Your Life, est. 2008. Pop. ?" The question mark was odd. The question mark was troubling. The last few years, the sign had always read "2". The road had always been straight for a miserable span of months, and flat, and, dare she say...boring. She had trudged along, darting off into the bushes every time she saw something interesting, or stopping to talk to the people she met along the way, but it was always straight and narrow. No twists. No bends. Nothing changed.

She sensed a fork just beyond the welcome sign, this time. She couldn't quite see it, yet, but she was certain a few more miles would bring it within view. She thought about which path she would choose, with the fork coming so soon. She didn't know. In the end, she would, as always, go where her heart led her. Some might say it had led her wrong in the past, but she didn't agree with that. Wherever it led her had become whomever she was, good and bad. She had never regretted her decisions, not once.

She peered into the near future, trying to ascertain the shape of the fork, trying to ascertain the shape of her life. And she prayed, god, she prayed, that this time would not be the first time she would ever know regret.