Such a title for a post about desperation! Maybe I should use a title like, “What Was I Thinking?” or, “Why?”. Somehow I was reminded of my early high school years and my freshman and sophomore period. Once a close friend of mine was asked by their mother, “Did George have an unhappy childhood?”. Upon being told this I laughed the laugh of the pained and humiliated and beaten. Sometimes, not often mind you, sometimes what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Most of my early experiences fall into that category. I was damaged and tempered from parental negligence. In spite of the humiliating treatment I received from mentally deranged parents I made it out of Dorchester to “The World”. Enough. Here is a piece that describes one of my desperate encounters with living. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you have pretty day.
Peace, g.
DESPERATE
The boy looks down at the cars passing below his feet. Big American sedans bouncing on springs and shocks worn out with age. The street is filled with cracks and potholes like the city it crosses. Washington Street at Dover; the red light district for the down and out. Everything here is cheap and only desperation drives the souls along paths like the cars passing under the desperate boys feet.
He hangs by his fingers, legs slightly spread for balance and momentum to move bit by bit along the facade that faces outward. He needs to travel this way for about ten feet to gain entrance to the elevated train station. He needs to move just ten feet by his fingers to access the filthy public transportation rumbling across town on steel towers laced by iron tracks. Life for this boy in his fourteen years has been a series of finger grasping desperation. He has been raised in a world of negligence and humiliation. This caper he is presently involved in has been forced onto him by pride and weariness. He will not beg for money to use the normal entrance and he is tired of humiliation. He feels alone. He feels alone but he does not feel helpless. Screw the world.
He looks down over his shoulder and sees the cars speeding along under him. Fear of falling has left, replaced by confidence in his wiry body. He has already imagined falling the twenty feet into the lane of a rushing automobile. School books tucked into his waistband this desperate excursion is no aberration. He is familiar with survival, knowledgeable beyond his years. The inner city presents no sanctuary. Life there is filled with fear driven innovation and foolhardiness.
Failure is unthinkable because he cannot walk home three miles through streets filled with enemies. He is desperate to conquer these barriers to gain the safety of the elevated train platform. Then he can ride the MTA system through the city to his neighborhood.
The boy eventually reaches the end of the ten foot facade and swings his legs over the railing. He drops nimbly to the wooden walkway and climbs the stairs to the outbound platform. There he waits for the next train home.
G.M. Goodwin
3 June 2015
Playing Fair and Being Kind 