Becoming

Short story

Small dirty urchin. They thought I was homeless and though i pretended not to care, it stung. The small i, before I was here. Meaning, before i was me.

In the schoolyard when the children were playing - the other children I should say, for I was alone on a rock in the shade - the teachers conferred. About me, who was I, and why was my hair so long, my clothes so worn, my expression so vacant, my pack empty of books. Did I have a home, a family, some affiliation to real people who could dress me up right, send me to the barber to cut off my long knots?

Me had a family as such and all of those things, but me was not I so I did not care. They tried in their histrionic way to curb and reform and make normal the child. The one with vacant eyes, the one in the shade, the one that was me before he was I.

The teachers all talked, I heard. They speculated and debated and thought about what should be done with this boy who was homeless yet lived just down the street. When I heard about the commotion I had caused I felt ashamed and it rose up like a bright red rose, it rose and rose, and roses, till my face was warm, too warm even in the shade.

I left my home the very next day and I left the school as well. I lived in the alleys and streets of my city and in all the places in between. I lived in the places between their world and mine and in the places I had not yet known exist. I lived in the gray just between black and white. I lived between I and me, one beneath my left foot and the other beneath my right. And they carried me forward like an inspiration. I traveled the country for three full and terrible years, always in the space between. Sometimes above and sometimes below but never straight through the middle.

In time I washed up on a southern shore, the search all purged out of me but I was I once more.

Reviews

[magensby]

You carry us along with you as if rolling, sometimes on a wave, and other times crawling on our knees but always moving. Thnx for the read.

[Nila M.]

Thanks you for reading and for the comment!

[magensby]

You are welcome. It was like standing in the shadows watching a scene materialize but can't look away. More please.

[Samuel Dickens]

I can relate to this very strong writing, for the kid reminds me of who I was at one time. I might be missing some small bits of the meaning, but most of it is there. In the words of John Prine, "You carry those bruises forever, I know".

[Nila M.]

Thank you, I can really appreciate that you relate. It's a true story, haha. And probably not one that not everyone can relate too. Thank you for reading and commenting. I really the quote, so true.