Story Week: I went for a walk

Before I start this somewhat strange and melodramatic post I would just like to say two things: first, this is my first post as an 18-year-old. Second, this is my first post on my shiny new MacBook Pro. I hope you are all as excited as I am right now. :) 
Okay, so here goes. You should know I had started writing this for my own blog, but when the idea of Story Week came up, I decided I should finish it and post it here. I hope you like it.
---


I went for a walk in the dark.

Sometimes I get too wrapped up in something I'm making. It consumes me. It becomes me. It all comes on at once and inside I become so intensely fragile that it hurts to breathe. Do you know the feeling?

I say I went for a walk-- well, I ran first.

It was raining. Not hard, but enough to leave splotchy, dark stains across my shirt. I didn't mind; It felt good. My lungs began to burn as I sprinted up a hill, the damp air like fire in my chest. 

Are you alive? I asked the houses as I passed them. Are you alive like me? 

No, I thought. You're not. I'm the only one here. I'm running in the rain and you're inside, safe, sleeping, silent. The night is here but only I dared to meet it. 

The rain transformed the moonlight into drops of gleaming oil, warm and brilliant in the darkness. I slowed to a walk and let it wash over me, let the night anoint me. A couple of cars passed; I ignored them. They didn't understand that the moment was holy. 

Eventually the rain stopped, the clouds parting to make way for the stars. I walked on.

There is a culvert at the park a few blocks from my house. We call it the Portal to the Land of Darkness; in reality, it's a huge pipe of corrugated metal that runs beneath the road, thirty or forty feet long and maybe ten in diameter. A creek runs beneath it, but the culvert is for channeling overflow and is quite dry most of the year. 

I meant to go there. I meant to creep my way down the ravine, through the thick grass, and into the spiraling darkness of the Portal. I meant to sit on the edge and sing until the whole tunnel resonated with my voice. But it was dark. I lost my nerve. I walked on.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I stepped from the sidewalk onto a walking trail. The tension inside me began to wane, fragility fading. It made room for a different emotion: fear. Here, there were no streetlights; no passing, irreverent cars; no voices from well-lit doorsteps. I was alone, and it was dark.

Emboldened, the moon emerged in silver glory. She rode the crest of a magnificent, gentle wave that arched above the distant city lights. Grateful for the company, I walked on.

Above me, the trees began to whisper. I closed my eyes and listened hard, but I couldn't quite make out the words. It was a secret I wasn't meant to know.

The park was empty when I reached it. I brushed the drops of moonlight from one of the swings and sat down, gripping the chains as I started to swing. I'd chosen the quieter of the two, but it still squeaked, jarringly shrill in the stillness. I leaned back, losing myself in the whole of the sky.

There's something beautifully futile about swinging, you know? You can wear yourself out trying to touch the stars, and even though you never do, it feels so good. The air rushes past your ears and you know that this is as close as you'll ever come to flying. Swinging is like life: you may never touch the sky, but as long as you try, it's worthwhile. 

After a while, I launched off of the swing and came down on the gravel with a crunch. I climbed up the playground and sat at the top of the long slide, hidden in the covered entrance. I sat there for several minutes, watching headlights pass by on the road up the hill. Without the wind in my ears, I felt very quiet. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I laughed. 

I'd realized what the trees were whispering, what the night had been trying to tell me. I hadn't heard it before because I'd been running too fast, swinging too hard, looking too far. There was no deep secret. There was no great mystery. The night was speaking through the trees, and you know what it said?

Shhhhhhhh. 

And that's all. Shhhh. Not exactly the meaning of life, but exactly what I needed to hear. I finally understood. I needed to be quiet. I needed to stop obsessing and overthinking and overfeeling everything. It was time to step back from life and just breathe. This epiphany made me forget that it had just rained; I slid down the slide. 

I walked home in the dark, jeans wet, heart quiet.

THE END

--

P.S. True Story.