Zona

Ten steps away from the door and I feel the heat of June. No ceiling fan. No quiet view from the back of the house lying in the messed up bed and the tussled long black hair. I feel closer to the people in the street now than the woman I just left behind. The ice cream vendor is more of a friend as he raises his glance from the children to me.

The bus pulling up on a route unknown to me holds more of a homecoming hope to me than the way I have known all my life. So I ignore it and walk in the opposite direction. There is the moment of right now. The rest of my life is past tense. It has always been that way but right now, this now, I feel like I'm starting from scratch more than ever before. More than the last time I lost a job. More than even closing the door that put me out on this street.

I decided to pull that door closed. I didn't decide to end that job. But both decisions left me in the same condition.

It was invigorating. It was a heart racing uncertaincy. It was empty.