5 Years

Five years, I waited; came home to kitchen ants, unlocked doors, and noise when I sought quiet.  Five years, I dreamed of walls within which I could cry, scream, laugh out loud, and be whenever, whatever I wanted.  Five years, I struggled figuratively and literally to move.

Well, my house will be sold shortly.  The five of us received news a few months ago and have been scrambling for new homes ever since.  Apparently, I needed a push out the door.  I haven't lived in any one space for more than five months since I was 18 years old.  This home that is being sold without my permission feels like my home.  They are selling my home without even asking for my opinion. 

Yesterday, I stopped one last time to grab the knife rack, deserted cleaning supplies, and necessaries like toilet brushes and mezuzahs.  All the plants had been ripped out leaving a barren front; a screaming dirty graveyard.  My most sacred of places had been stripped; the move was a reality.

That night, my friend Yohko and I left Chem class to be clandestine figures under dark.  We snuck our way back to the old house and dug out the remaining side-yard plants with a dirty shovel, by the light of my ex-neighbor's bright porch light.  As Yohko dug, I did mischievous sidewalk jigs every few minutes to trigger the motion sensored light's glow upon our mission. 

Late night dog walkers eyed us suspiciously as they wandered by on the street below.  Neighbors watched from behind curtained windows.  "Are they stealing the plants?" they wondered, but no one asked. 

We left with a massive, gorgeous fucshia that I planted as a baby three years ago.  Also in our booty was a flowering red currant, a blueberry bush, tomato plants, carrots, and some 50 lbs of compost.  To top it all off, we precariously tipped a large shelving unit onto the roof of my car, strapping it down with dollar store bungees.

I led the way, driving down Cesar Chavez Blvd slowly and with prayer.  As I stopped at the light outside Tom's Bar, I realized my car was more forest than machine and the added weight had me riding just inches off the ground.  From only feet away, not one socialite took a second glance.  God bless, Portland.

Now I wake up to chickadees, toddlers screaming with glee in the distance, and dancing trees.  Pooch is fixed to the window staring into Kenilworth Park as if hypnotized by the blowing world.  As I return home from work each night, I attempt to unite my old and new lives.  I drag further items and plants from the trunk of my car, one heavy pot at a time.  I try to remember which key gets me in the front door and where to leave my shoes. 

My own concrete slab out back is quickly turning into a gardening eden.  There are uprooted tomato plants hanging from the chain links; the fucshia sits desperately holding onto its new life from a yellow City of Portland recycling bin.  The boxes make their way slowly from inside towers to recycling and I am discovering the quirks, cracks, and joys of living alone. 

When in the shower for the first time the other day, I was hit upon the face and shoulders by a gust of cold, clear wind.   My new bathroom window allows me to stand dripping with warmth while watching my neighborhood from a safe little nook that no one else would notice.  "Oh my god.  I have an outdoor shower," I thought.  With joyful surprise, I burst into tears remembering the lovely Ugandan bucket showers and I shook with gratitude for my new freedom. 

Finally, I have space. 

The Race

I like to run.  Since the day I turned 4 years old, I have been running with the world at my back.  Today, I am competing for the title of world's fastest woman.  Jeannie Holdenbreck is all that stands in my way.  They say that billions of people will be watching, more than have ever watched any sporting event at one time.  They say running has never been so exciting.

I dreamed that we were completing the L-turn of the course, English manicured greenery lining our path like bumpers in a novice bowling lane.  Two other women had the misfortune to participate in our observed scuffle; both older with grey hair.  One woman talked a steady rhythm to her friend, the other listened with silent intensity.  Both seemed unaware that their feet were running a race.  As far as Jeannie and I were concerned, they were just additional obstacles.  Jeannie wasn't a full step ahead of me, but at this point, knowing the curve was ahead, we were all still holding on to our mama, heads down, afraid to make that fateful decision to step out front.  Jeannie slowly edged her way forward.  Her light feet navigated the tangle of legs and bounced forward inch by inch.  I sailed immediately behind in her wake.

Eventually separate from the pack, we found ourselves in total quiet except for the cushioned pounding of our feet.  Four women, two grey and two eager.  I could feel the possibility at the top of my throat.  This might be the day and the world would be watching. Despite her calm bounce, even an irregular comment to the chatty woman in our clique, I knew she was scared.  I knew that she was counting my steps attempting to strategize her way out of this one. I felt elated at the knowledge.

We came to the curve.  The manicured bushes on our sides suddenly turned straight up to the sky only 40 paces ahead and something in me knew that whoever came out the other side of this "world famous" turn would win today's race.  I tried to stay calm and I could feel Jeannie relaxing into her experience.  I would have to navigate this one on my own as I temporarily held the lead.  I reached out my hand to grab the metal ladder's first rung.  It was a strange feeling to stop running, my feet continued into my mind and I tried to slow my breathing for a break while beginning to climb up to the next level of my life.  I could sense her disappointment behind as each rung put us further and further apart.  I was a good climber and a better runner than she expected.

The old women cheered me on with quiet fortitude and I climbed, timing my breath with each pull.  A camera off to my left whirred its way up alongside me, sticking out of the bushes like an awkward spy.  I could barely hold back my excitement as I reached the top and began to inhale my victory.  I didn't know how to climb off the ladder now that it was behind me.  In practice, I would always descend upon reaching the top instead of stepping off and away onto my new plateau.  This time however, forward was the only way on and I hadn't trained for the awkward transition.  I scooted my left foot around the side, pointing it towards the dense bush while desperately trying to avoid the emptiness between me and the unforgiving ground, 20 or so feet below.  She was only 10 steps behind and one of the older women even closer on the ladder to my right.  Nope, twisting to the left wasn't working-maybe I should try dismounting to the right.  This was so much more awkward than I ever would have imagined, but it was almost over and the rest would be icing.

As I squirmed this way and that, being altogether too aware of my own dizzying height, I overheard Jeannie talking to the women.  I thought to myself, "she has had too much of a break if she thinks this is the time for casual conversation," but I had to re-focus my attention and leave her voice behind.  I was getting frustrated despite my best efforts to remain calm and I could feel the tension rising all around with every step Jeannie took towards me.  Wait a minute, she wasn't coming towards me.  She was going back down.  My body was pumping with endorphins so loudly I couldn't possibly decipher her illogical move before it was too late.

Some part of my right ear heard it first.  The rest of me had all the time in the world to catch up as I arced to the ground in a graceful, terrifying fall.  I clung to the ladder's top rung, my elbows wrapped around its stable bar, with every ounce of energy I had left realizing I had made the rookie mistake.  She knew that I was faster and she saw the panic in my face as I climbed.  She did what she had to do.  To her credit, she carefully observed as a faraway spotter would, as I lifted up, back, and away from my salvation.

I lost that race as I prepared my knees for landing hoping there would someday be another chance.  My stomach sat in my throat and I cried in fear and frustration as the irreversible occurred all around me.  Just before touching ground, I watched as she climbed up and away, having done this race for 15  years.  Her feet bounced up the ladder as they bounce everywhere and she saluted me just before disappearing over the heather.  I sat on the ground, my legs drained of all power and began to plan for the next time.