orangeinfinity

There is a girl, standing on the broken edge of an unfinished wooden bridge. It is not-quite fall and the summer humidity still clings to her fingertips and the curls in her hair. Her eyes are closed; her sneakered feet far too close to the edge for the comfort of a worried mother. In between her bitten fingernails she clutches a thin piece of paper, folded in quarters and smudged with fingerprints and ink-stains.

She is tired. Her eyes are dark and hopeful now, peering beyond the splintered wood into the surrounding fog. The map in her hand ends here, in an abrupt jagged line. There is no "x" to mark the spot, and she is confused. Where is everyone? Where are all the voices of advice and wisdom? What happened to the decisions everyone else made for her? In this place, everything is silent. A dot on her map informs her: "You Are Here". But where is here?

Reaching inside herself, she can feel her heart beating. Has it been beating for someone else for seventeen years? Have her fingers been moving and her lips been speaking without purpose? She looks down at her hands - they are callused and small and quick - drummser's hands. Her mom insisted on her playing the piano, even though her fingers enjoyed the tip-tapping of the djembe better. Her father encouraged her to take up karate, even though her body seemed to find dancing to be more enjoyable.

And now where is she? She is alone, standing with her damp sneakers curved over the rotted edge of this pathway, fingers clutching the well-worn map. She knows herself - she loves poetry and dancing, drumming, playing on swingsets and splashing in puddles. She loves signing, inspiring, loving and nurturing. She's wild - a free spirit.

The path behind her will take her back to the safety of the mundane - she knows this. The map says so, and she is tempted for a moment to turn back and walk in someone else's footprints for a while longer. She could be perfect and follow in her mother's shadow. But there is something...alluring about this bridge, about what lies beyond it. She remembers a poem that she loves:

this bridge will only take you halfway there -
the last few steps you have to walk alone

She smiles, then slowly releases her grip on the map in her hand. It drifts out of sigt into the mists. Then she closes her eyes. Leap of faith , she thinks, then takes a step.