The Observer

He observes

He sees what others do not

He walks within the shadows

In areas between the light and the dark

Many have an inkling of his presence

But no one call pinpoint his location

He scrutinizes both intent and serendipity

Analyzing the minor inflections within both

His is to act only when necessary

Postulating a favorable outcome for all

Deciding fortuitously for a select few

Deliberating unilaterally against all of the rest

Once again I find myself walking home. This time, I am walking just a bit further than I prefer in my stilettos. I’ve had a few too many to drink. I’m dressed for the clubs, not for the climb. By all accounts, I look easy. I am easy. I want to be easy for a pick-up line, not a smack-down fight.

The street is too quiet for this time of night. I see lights, but I see no one. With each step, my heels (normally silent against the background of city noise) echo against the pavement. I am acutely aware of my breathing. I can even hear my pulse.

My scan for an escape is to no avail. Fences line the front yards on this block. A few cars are nestled near their respected curb. The trash cans are ill maintained. They should be empty. They should be inside. I should be inside. My gut feels empty and I should know better than to be here.

I am ill maintained.

But, I am still moving. Step by step. Next time, I will take a cab. Next time, I will leave with a friend. I keep walking.

It is getting cold. I braced myself for chilly, however, I didn’t account for the cold. I am not dressed for the cold. My legs are aching and I am beginning to get nervous. The next block looks worse than this one. It is fish or cut bait time. I could walk back and I should walk back. Against my own sage advice, I kept walking, alone.

It took another thirty minutes to find sanctuary. The store had an evening shift and an abundance of lights. I picked through my clutch for my compact to check my appearance before entering the parking lot.

I looked good in the mirror’s reflection. In this aspect of existence, the years have been easy. In others, my loneliness, I have paid a steep price.

Shouldof, couldof, wouldof and I might still be married. More forgiving means more anniversaries. If I had accepted his apology, I might not feel so vulnerable.

However, I want the life I have and I do not wish to compromise on this point. I want to meet new people and devour their stories while creating new ones for the both of us. I want it all and I want it now.

I also want it how it was supposed to be.

But, I will never learn about that alternative ending and I am beginning to believe I may (soon) never care. My life is a series of eroded Ctrl-Alt-Delete keys known no longer by touch, only by position. If Shakespeare wrote my life as a play, Acts I/II would perpetually repeat, ad infinitum.

Another check from my compact, before I ask someone to call a cab for me.

The man with the knife behind me did not fare as well in his appearance. I do not believe his looks were high on his agenda tonight.

His first punch to my abdomen releases me from any further analyses of his motives.

I awaken where I fell, left untouched, amongst the ruins of those who did not fare as I have. The bloodstains run slightly parallel, as if the person or persons responsible were methodical displaying their skills.

I do not remain to check for life signs. I am without such internal injuries and am able to continue sojourning forward. I am too scared to venture otherwise.

One roll of the dice

One date with destiny

He who sees, but is not seen

He who saves, but cannot be saved

One more morning for one not deserving of such

One could only wait to see if she ever will