The lonely walk

Burnt into my memory, I can still see myself walking through Kenmore Square to Newtonville. Yep. A beautiful Sunday, around 4:00 in the afternoon, usually my perfect time of the entire week…Sunday, late afternoon.

But not this particular Sunday.

If every memory of loneliness was erased from my brain. If only one memory were to stay, it would be this lonely walk through Kenmore Square.

I can't quite tell you why I'm writing this or why I still get a funny feeling deep in my stomach. It certainly wasn't a turning pointing in my life of hopefulness or opportunity...no, I'm pretty sure it was the turning point into self-destruction, a pity pot of gloom, quiet destruction. Still in my twenties, young, not a penny in my pocket – I guess that answers the question of "why were you walking to Newtonville," and, unknown to me, about to embark on a journey that would destroy relationships, hurt and confuse, create chaos, and rip apart those values that were instilled in me. I was to become what I always despised – a liar, a thief, a drunk.

So what's the significance of the lonely walk? I abandoned those who loved me. I lost the trust of those who trusted me. I became disinterested in reality and chose my own. However, I really didn't have a clue of how bad I was becoming. Can you believe that? I really didn't.

Was I reflective on my lonely walk? Highly doubtful. But I knew that I was totally alone. I was by myself. I had begun to feed the addiction that laid quietly waiting, the one I did not know existed. Oh, that powerful beast – and I chose "it" over everything else.

Was I sad on my lonely walk? I'm sure I was. But I was losing my ability to understand that I was creating the sadness.

Did I make bargains with someone or something called "God" on my lonely walk? I'm sure...that was a favorite pastime of mine. But really, I had no faith.

Did I ponder my future on my lonely walk? No. Only that I was, like, "locked in a box" and couldn't – or wouldn't – get out.

I arrived at my apartment in Newtonville...and have neither memory of the time nor the rest of the night. That, my friends, would be a recurring theme.

I've been back to Kenmore Square. No longer in my twenties, but certainly a vivacious 50+ plus girl! I've stood on the sidewalk and in my minds eye watched a younger version walk through the Square. I stand and shake my head.

No longer do I have lonely walks. I am never alone.

No longer am I faithless.

No longer am I untrustworthy

No longer am I unlovable.

No longer am I self-destructive.

I no longer attend pity-parties.

I ask for forgiveness, and it has been granted. I still have work to do.

Sunday afternoons, around 4:00, still my favorite day and time of the week...always has been, always will be.

For those of you that have had that almost indescribable feeling of loneliness, self-induced or not, I hope this find its way to you. Find that lifeline...believe me, someone will throw you one...grab on and let them pull you to shore. And then, let your life begin.

The Shoeshine Man

A thin man, not too tall. He wears a starched white shirt with a black bow tie. His hands are the color of mocha. His long, thin fingers work by themselves, not needing any help from his brain. They dance across my boot, dabbing polish here, while his experienced eye scans the drawers for the correct color. He appraises the leather of the boot, a comment or two on the quality as he rubs the creamy polish into the leather. He taps a beat on the toe of my boot; buffing out a shine, like a tap dancer…a slow shuffle, the beat, quiet, yet definite…tap, tap, and again, tap, tap.

I sit there, watching this gentle man, smiling to myself. Memories of a shoeshine man from long ago, in Boston, come to mind. I am filled with emotion, which stuns me. "Why,” I ask myself?

I’m still thinking about the answer.

To DJG...Waiting for me

You’ve waited for me…you were always there. I missed the signs. I was blind and my memory failed me. But in my mind I saw you and I remembered our years together – the games we played, our growth. You were my champion, my protector. We cried. We fought. We always forgave. Our doll carriages were beautiful as we paraded them up and down the street. Birthday parties, I always sang. Hide and go seek, a favorite. I was the pillow in horse. I always had play money…was there a message there? The smell of dirt after a rainstorm; making mud pies. The alleyway up to your backyard.

I remembered, but I was scared, afraid you’d close the door. Never giving you a chance to say yes or no, I made the decision for both of us, until that day I reached out to you. And you were waiting for me…you were always there.