Hegira

So there's this boy. (No, it's not that kind of entry. Or maybe it is, I dunno. Wait and find out with me.) And really, he's not a boy anymore. I've been reading his journal, what, three years now? A few emails back and forth, a couple of text messages on a few days when I was bored sitting in empty buildings. Giving into a fascination.

He's living my life. And your life. We're being dependable, honoring commitments, taking care of business. Stuck. And this boy who isn't really a boy anymore goes to Hawaii on a promise and NY on a whim, no cares for where he's gonna land or who'll feed him. And someone always does. Other people like us, stuck and dreaming of getting our wings back.

He makes me grin. And cry, sometimes, and shake my head. He terrifies me with his recklessness and makes me worry for myself and the people close to him. And I wonder what his mother makes of him, this precocious assertive feckless human she gave birth to and tried to keep safe and somehow raised without ever breaking his spirit. Sometimes I think the world needs more like him. Those are the days when I want to take my life out of his hands and into my own and live my own fantasies. And then sometimes I think he can only exist the way he does because there are sensible dependable people like the rest of us who don't mind catching him and being his safety net because he's living our fantasies for us. That if we all took our fantasies back into our own hands, who would there be to catch us?

Then again, maybe that's just what I tell myself because I'm afraid. The most reckless thing I've ever done was getting on a Greyhound bound for Toledo.