My Life: Who's Doing Who

I passed the car wash. There was a Shaw plant to my left and a bank with a car at the drive through. I was moving as fast as I could. I cut through the bank parking lot; there were apartments across the street with a church next to it. On down the street was a lone brick house. It looked somewhat abandoned, trash thrown all around and cigarette butts everywhere. I kept going, the sidewalk had run out and the grass was up to my calves, I kept running. Tears started coming and I couldn't get away. Traffic was light, I was glad; I didn't want anybody to see me cry. I wasn't tired, I wanted to be tired, I wanted to stop.

There was this construction sight straight ahead. The property was cleared to the red dirt, large gravel set at the drive way. Big cement sidewalls set at the top of the clearing. I ran up the hill, my feet sinking into the dirt. The dirt was soft in some places and hard in others. I started to sweat; I got up the hill and jumped onto the top of the sidewall. Tears began to roll. How can something have a hold on you that's so deep, you can't see it, you can't smell it, you can't wash it away, yet it can rip you apart and you'll never know it's touch.