The Town I Left

The urgency of it remains with me to this day.  The new town had begun to be drowning, it’s windows fogged, streaked with crooked finger marks, doors chipped and ragged, hinges loose, shelves once full lay empty and dusty.

It was not long ago that I happened upon the new town.  I was quite comfortable living my life in the town I knew.  Yeah, there were times I wish my town offered more but it was enough.  One day I slipped out of my town.  I didn’t travel far until I noticed in the distance something was drawing me near.  I tried to hold back, was a bit anxious to walk into a new town, not knowing a soul, not understanding why there was a tug and pull.  Do I peek in?  Do I retreat to the comfort of my town?

Forward motion held out.  The door mat was quite enticing, red carpet treatment one could hardly imagine.  Could this really be happening to me?  I was drunk from play, drunk from the new found comfort, drunk from diving into the waters without a pause.  My guards left and I was naked with wild abandon like never before.  I felt hatched, birthed from a tightly held shell.  I wanted to be naked forever with this new town.  There was so much exploring to do that I could hardly wait for each new day to buckle forth.

Then one day the town changed.  It happened so abruptly that I could hardly imagine exactly where the bridge had broken.  Where once it’s fence, gates, doors and windows were expressively open, it shut down as if a total blackout occurred.  I didn’t understand and the shock of it burst forth a flurry inside.  It was as if the comfort of a long held sentiment was taken away. 

The only place I had left to go was back to the old town.  That seemed like the most mature and logical decision.  Yet I had forgotten the route I had originally taken.  Maybe forgotten wasn't the appropriate vestige.  Perhaps I fought the truth, rebelled against what lay open in plain sight.    Each new road I came upon I took, and yet, it seemed to take me back to the new town, the town I needed to leave.  I lingered there again, left, came back, lingered, left, came back, lingered a little longer and then I realized unconsciously that I was hanging on as if an addict.  Each time I left and came back my body and soul became heavier.

One day I came upon a flower garden with a small pond in the middle and shiny lily pads softly rousing.  A lone old woman was sitting upon a worn yellow bench, her grey hairs tucked inside the red wool hat, her wrinkles soft and pillowed around her sad eyes, her hands folded upon her lap, a gaze so sullen I dare not touch her space.  It was as if I saw my own reflection.  At that moment I turned and walked out of that town, never to return again.