TheBanyanTree: Going Home

[Maria Gibson]

The elements of our past created our present and prepare for our 
future.  I am, you are, he is, she is a product of that from which we 
came.  Some revel in their past while others seek running and hiding.  I 
think I've done both.  I'm best at reveling because at least that's a 
better familiar than the running which is also familiar but lacks 
honesty.  It's exhausting, actually.

The eclectic mix in the bar I've recently begun to frequent excites me; 
I recognize the people.  Faces which house those who work hard every 
day, work with their hands and backs and feet every day, smiling with 
the glow of friendship and alcohol.   They laugh  and dance and eat 
wings and drink two dollar beer and the occasional six dollar shot.  
They sing karaoke badly and with gusto and invite me to sing with them.  
I dance with them.  I am comfortable with them because they are who I 
have been, they are my past.

It's not a nice part of the city.  My heart does a little downward turn 
to think that I am going to leave with the sure knowledge that I can 
visit whenever I want while others cannot escape.  I don't know that 
they want to, I wanted to, but that was me.  Still, I put my own breath 
to that thought and feel some pain for the girl I was who had to go far, 
far away and who now feels a need to go back from time to time.  To 
remember who I was and to see that there are some things about that 
which were, are, good and decent and fun.  I am not harassed in this 
place; I don't feel threatened or above the crowd in any way.  I love 
them.  I love dancing with the guy in a wheelchair and listening to the 
karaoke, sometimes sung in accents which sound foreign to me.
I am accepted because I accept.

It's not the only place I go but it is often the place I wind up and 
then wind down.  It feels right.

Maria