Robin was feeling pretty content as he drove along the country highway
towards town. Fresh rains had eliminated the usual billowing cloud of dust
that typically flung up in his wake, and the air was crisp and clean.
The sun setting at dusk was his favorite time of day, and driving into the
myriad of brilliant hues was a spiritual experience for him. He tried hard
to focus on the moment and the road, ignoring all the nagging issues that
nattered at the corners of his mind.
He happened to notice a rather rag-tag vehicle vibrating along the clay
road that was attached to the main road. That sputtering monstrosity was
ambling along towards the spot where Robin was approaching, and he
thought to himself, cynically, just for a moment, "I wonder if they have
any brakes on that dilapidated old thing?"
He actually felt some concern in his heart, and perhaps a bit of seemingly
appropriate disgust for the condition of the old car. After observing it
safely stop at the end of the side road, allowing him to continue by
without incident, he reflected on something. Perhaps it came as more of a
burning recognition. A vision.
He had never been like this before Mark.
He never held view like this, contemptuous and dismissive and derisive
of other people's income level or appearance or mannerisms. He never
sized people up based on the superficial. He never looked for ways to
feel superior to others. Before Mark.
But now, almost by rote, he evaluated himself every time he left his home,
no longer casually running to town and comfortable in his own skin. He
worried over what people felt and thought when he drove into town, his
own vehicle not-so-slowly descending into junk pile territory itself. But
then, it's always different when it's you, right? Somehow the excuses
and rationalizations come fast and easily then.
He felt a bit queasy, noticing the new pattern and how unknowingly he
had gelled with it. How completely and eerily he has transformed, in
the scariest of places, his mind and heart, like some creature in a horror
movie being reworked as the unrecognizable monster.
It had been months since he had had any contact with Mark whatsoever,
and almost a year since they had ended their friendship, if in truth that's
what it ever was. (He knew, in fact, that it had been genuine. No loss
of anything fake or insignificant could have so adversely affected anyone.)
But just a few days prior to this drive, he had caught a glance of him
driving by, downtown, while running some errands.
He hadn't expected it, and it caught him off guard. He knew well enough
to avoid, consciously or otherwise, the regular hangouts and haunts, and
to steel his nerves when going in places where there was a chance or a
likelihood that their paths might cross. Robin hated giving it that much
thought or power, but as devastatingly bad as things were left, he didn't
imagine he would weather a run-in well.
It wasn't weakness or fear. He worried that he may be prone to angry
outburst, and violence was something that, although not a recurring part
of his world, was something he had a healthy respect and understanding of.
It was, by its very unpredictable nature, something to be monitored and
prepared for.
Perhaps that minor shock to the system, of unexpectedly seeing him
even in passing, had made him uncomfortable without him fully realizing it.
So much tension, so much criticism, so much discomfort had been a part
of the sick dealings, and it had seemingly been successfully put behind
them in the waning months of separateness.
The lasting imprint of the relationship was that Mark's negative and nasty
voice was ever-present in Robin's head; questioning decisions, critiquing
where none was requested or needed, having a stiff and unyielding aspiration
to an unrealistic standard of high-faluting perfectionism.
As he felt the rage and resentment and revenge pooling in his mind, then
gut, then chest, Robyn had another moment of clarity. He could devote no
more time to this. The darkness that descended on him with thoughts of
the man could no longer be allowed such a stranglehold; the embedded
affectation of his imposed misery would have to be excised.
There were rationalizations as he considered the specifics of Mark's
actions, trying to reconcile why he needed to remain cognizant and recall
the past infractions. But then it was as simply construed as nothing had
been in quite some time--he could not live in both worlds. Either the past
or the present; decide. Either anger or contentment; decide. Either
consumed by another or dedicated to self; decide.
He felt like one of the overinflated tires of his car, keenly observed and
gauged, being let out of the dangers of the pent up extra air....a hissing
sigh of relief and respite slowly passing through him.
He had known at one time how to be content within himself, not
looking to others for support or approval. Surely he could remind
himself of that and sear independence back onto his frame. Despite
the existence of the game of lies and charades, there is choice in
whether to participate or not.
He cautioned himself to again become aware of the fading, paled
sunset, noting that conscious observation does not diminish inherent
beauty. That beauty can be found in many things, if a respect for it
is cultivated. That there is only a small window of time to appreciate
all things, before they are gone.
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