Northport, Alabama

And so I return to the only place that’s ever truly been home.

I drift in; I drift out. I write in the dark for a faceless entity, never knowing if my words matter at all. Creatives create, he says, and I know he’s right. Photoblogging is on its way out, he says, and I know this is true as well. Life moves on, dear girl, he says, and I say yeah, I guess it does. So you’re speeding up the highway in the dark, he says, and you know somewhere ahead is a place where the road falls off, he says, but you don’t know where or how far and your headlights don’t work. Do you hit the brakes, or do you keep your foot on the peddle, he asks, and I say I don’t know because I don’t.

There is no fait accompli, he says, only what’s next. Yesterday’s over, he says, what’s next? Nothing’s a foregone conclusion, he says, what’s next?

And because I don’t know what’s next, I come here just like I came here so many years ago. I shoot to lose myself. I write to find myself. And now that everything is changing, I return to this space of pixels and light, wrap my music around me and smoke cigarettes in the dark, pondering the future.

We walked through campus in the nighttime stillness, and I stood on the steps of my old apartment and said I wished I could do it all over. I’d make different choices now, I said, I’m sure I would. It’d make a great business concept he said, this company that could offer second chances. People would lap it up like fine bourbon, eager for the chance to get it right this time. I’d be the first to sign up, I said, I’d pay any price.

But last Saturday night, sitting on my porch railing, surrounded by the people I love best, protected within my chosen circle, I knew this was the comfort I always seek. The family I crave. You’re loved, he said, they love you. And tonight, when every other element of my world seems up for grabs, I replay that moment and know that he’s right.

I’m lost in a dark space of hopelessness, but I don’t stand alone. The kitties are happy, the boy is optimistic, the friends are forever, and the WonderTwin transcends time, space, and eternity itself.

What new life can’t be forged from such fearsome symmetry? Believe, he says. And silently I nod. Believe.

Music: In the Air Tonight by Nonpoint.

Posted on July 28, 2007 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, Northport, self-portraits, writing