Posted on December 29, 2009 - by Rasham

SEVERELY DECOMPOSED

I remember being absorbed in my own consciousness, one hand on the wheel of the hesitant Volvo, the other  dangerously fondling a cigarette. I remember being sad, as I often was, regretting my destination just the same as I regretted my point of origin. I remember being alone, isolation themed the landscape of my reality, and I remember feeling as stuck inside this modern model of man-made life as I was in the permanent embrace of my seat-belt’s arm. I remember being stopped at a red light: stopped, though in my heart I was in swirling motion, like the dingy threads of a wet mop made to hump a cold tile floor I was weighted by the filth of a mess I had never before bothered to clean. Bored and bearing the symptoms of an All-American burn out, I flicked my cigarette and exhaled a final plume of sweet smoke.

As I sat obediently minding the mechanical blood stain behind other minority ranks, a rapid movement pulled my eye and I looked left to witness an unusual sight; a man on a one-wheeled cycle spinning artistic shapes around the shaft of a street lamp. What a sight to see amidst the backdrop of an urban ghetto, where all around people hustled into bus doors bearing bottles born from liquor stores; he was the violet wisps of ember energy in the center of a roaring flame, dancing to the tune of some muted sunshine serenade, his arms moving like the hair of a kite, his smile as great as the social callousness that mingled with the naughty street emissions in the industrial air.

I felt a slight breeze and was stunned when a soaring saint invaded my space, a self-assured butterfly who found a spot to rest upon the canvas seat of my pending car. I was aghast: here beside me was a most unusual passenger, a fragile friend whose wings paced delicately,  a fellow with whom to witness the magic of the unicycle show.

Why the butterfly chose my window I cannot say, it was open just the same as the rest headed west on main street. But I chuckled, choked, challenged the very disbelief in love that had me so locked in this loner’s remedy. I sighed through a cheap grin and saw through the breaks of the magic man’s movements the scene within a coffee shop window: a large mahogany-skinned woman with glistening strands of braided hair, tears formed in her hazel hued eyes; she was looking past the window and through the magic dancer at some unseen spirit of sadness. One tear shed from my eyes to match her distant flow, and she looked at me and together we exhaled and smiled as if together we understood the melting presence of humanity; in an elongated moment we stayed in the space that divided us three from the regular worker bees. I looked to watch as my passenger escaped, maybe to move with the magic street dancer, maybe to slip through the opening of the cafe door and grace my temporary soul mate with a butterfly kiss.