There’s
something I miss about pouring my heart on to a shelf. I am tempted every day
now to continue to write in the voice I know comforts me...the one that’s been
my friend and confidant for 4 years now. It’s the one that’s been there with me
in the trenches fighting and crying out for freedom and then helping me to
chronicle it all. I feel it with me now more than ever, in every second of
every day. We plot and scheme our next move and from what angle to best
approach it. I’m amazed at the level of commitment I have now to get this
decanter of flesh and bone ripped open so the cool fluid of truth can finally
be freed to spill out and wash over me. But
we are not fooling anyone, my best friend and I. We know there’s something much
bigger and more ominous we are meant to tackle here but still can’t walk up to.
Actually, it’s me who’s stalling, not the Narrator in my mind. There’s no “we”
about it. I pulled back the wizard’s curtain and saw my future. But I am, quite
honestly, afraid of the next step. I have feared it my entire life. I know
exactly what it is but the very thought makes me feel like weeping. Not fearful
tears really. It’s mostly a feeling of deep sadness. Even to write about the
idea of it now makes my hands shake. Maybe it’s all the same, fear and sadness.
Yes, I’m sure it is. So I exhale the deep breath that’s been drawing in for a
lifetime then raise my head and push my shoulders back to show that even in
doubt I can find courage. Through the prism in my watering eyes I see a
scattered view of my two feet. One leads out and takes the next step. I will
push through now or break what’s left of me trying.
My
father’s name was James…he left me when I was 8 years old and died when I was
35. I missed and longed for him every day in between, and have despised him
every day since.
-Jim
Franks
