My Private Fire

I recently went out to lunch by myself about a week ago, which is uncommon for me as I usually eat lunch with the same people every day. But that was the thing - I eat lunch every day with the same people in the same room inside of the same building - and I reached a point where I thought one more day might cause my head to pop off my torso and begin turning around a full 360 degrees at about 75 mph. I needed some time alone that day.

So, I drove up the street to a nearby Wendy's that has a terribly-designed drive-thru lane for itself and the conjoined Tim Horton's inside, and made my way to a distant parking space with burger and fries in hand (my favorite meal) once I figured out which of the 15 lanes to navigate my Beetle on to the food window. My guilt for abandoning ship and leaving my lunch buddies behind had stayed back with my dust as I sped out of the work parking lot just ten minutes earlier; at last, I had some peace.

My radio and engine were both turned off, allowing a full onset of quiet and harmony to settle in. As expected, my thoughts began to wander. And wander. And wander. And wander.

I pictured so many things at once: beauty, laughter, bright skies, rainbows, angels, hugs, kisses... I thought about things of the past and things to come, and the feeling of achievement that I sorely missed. My mind took me back in time to writing poetry and short stories; painting in the art studio at school; long conversations with my gorgeous art instructor; the freedom I felt as I pushed the nozzle down and spray-painted my entire Blazer; learning to dance the salsa and merengue; the intense pleasure as I badly damaged the drivers' side door of the truck owned by my childhood bully; the beloved dog I trained; the late night swims I took; the dear friends I made; the tears I cried; the life I had once lived.

Pretty soon, I remembered that I needed to return to work as I gazed out my windshield amidst a private fire of memories that had invisibly engulfed me inside of my vehicle. So my visions continued as I drove back to work, and lingered as I sat in my parking spot not wanting to go back inside "just yet."

I turned around and looked back at the building, and thought about what it'd be like on my last day. That day where I could walk out and never come back after saying all my "good-byes," given all my hugs, cleaned off my desk, walking out that front door one last time and letting the door quietly shut behind me. Would it be a sad day? Is it something to be scared of? Absolutely not. In fact, the imagined feeling of leaving sent a surge of energy through me, making me jump out of the car and walk quickly back inside as if doing so would make my imaginary departure more speedy.

I am living in the future. I have already told this place "good-bye" and experienced the joy that followed. The calendar date just hasn't arrived yet. But I am already there in spirit.