March

I march in place.

Sometimes, I get so upset the only thing that calms me is marching in place.

Hup, two, three, four, I march in place.

I scrunch up my shoulders, knees up, two, up, two, my fists bouncing in time

To whatever life happens to be playing: a turning bicycle spoke. A lawn sprinkler. The mother saying Let go of me through a wall.

When you’re five or six years old, marching in place is perfectly acceptable, even cute. But not when you’re 38 and you live with your mother.

Some people don’t appreciate your holding up traffic with your marching, but the curses and honking only makes me march faster. Hup, hup, hup, knees up!

I never get anywhere, though. That’s the thing. Where is it you think you’re going, Guy? She says.

That's the thing: I don’t have to go anywhere. I’ve never been so depressed. I’m turning 39 soon.