I hear a flushing sound. Louder and longer than the sound a toilet makes. A breeze kisses my face for an instant, then I’m falling, sliding, the rib-like welds of a giant tube rush past me faster and faster. I want to panic but I knew this moment was coming. I still exhale short squeal, like a little girl who just spotted a spider.
The giant tube chucks me out, into a giant field where I do three cartwheels and a couple of somersaults and land face down. “I asked for a gentle exit not a yard sale, damn it,” I grumble, knowing full well life is a free-spirit and does what it wants. I may grumble but I can relate. There is no blame, only choices.
The grass tickles my forehead and an ant occasionally crosses my narrow field of view, crawling over small clumps of dirt and under blades of grass. I take a deep breath. Soft smells of rain and topsoil and sunshine and microbes invade my nose and my brain and the bottom of my lungs. The smell feels good. I feel my body loosen in relaxation. I take another deep breath. A breeze tickles my left ear. My clothes and neck are warm from sunshine. Maybe I nap, it’s hard to tell.
Standing up, the horizon teeter-totters and my vision swarms with white spots. I take another deep breath and wait for it to clear but I can already see it is an infinite distance to the horizon. The dark blue of the sky at the horizon slowly fades to a pale blue directly overhead. My chest tightens, my quads spasm, my deep breaths become short and shallow. I spin around looking for the tube so I can crawl back in. It’s gone, withdrawn. “I’m trapped,” I hear myself gasp. Too much space. Too much open. I’m going to fall up, get sucked into all that space.
What the hell am I suppose to do? Which direction do I look, let alone travel? School was an incubator. I was protected, comfortable and regimented. Student loans took away day to day financial stress, the end of each semester was a bite sized goal and the schedule helped keep a nice rhythm to life. But now I’ve been booted, ejected, cutoff. But clutched in my sweaty hand is the most expensive piece of paper I have ever owned. I can feel its power.
“Trapped?” I repeat to myself but in a question this time. The word rattles around in my brain and soul, mixing the emotions. I take a deep breath and spin in another circle but slowly this time, taking in the sky and the horizon. There are mountains way off in the distance begging to be explored and a random brick tower here and there looking very mysterious. I like mysteries. I like exploring. Over head wispy clouds slowly expand, curling and becoming more transparent, like a drop of food coloring in a glass of water.
I look at my immediate surroundings. I see my backpack, hiking poles, ball cap and sunglasses scattered around me in the grass. Picking up my ball cap and sunglasses I put them on and wait for my eyes to adjust. I unclench my sweaty degree, smooth it out on my leg and put it in my backpack. I slide on my pack. I pick up my poles.
“Trapped,” I say again but begin chuckling, understanding the irony of my first exclamation. “Trapped. That’s funny. It’s exactly the opposite. I can go in any direction I want.” I turn slowly again to pick a direction. I’m in no hurry. The hard part’s over. Getting flushed isn’t so bad. Actually, it’s kind of fun, like a cliff drop or ten story water slide. My body begins to buzz from the anticipation of the unexplored.
Taking another deep breath I begin to walk away from my yard sale skid mark in the grass. I have a degree in my pack. I have the confidence of maturity and life experience. I have a slow, rhythmic stride, spiraling out in deliberate exploration.
