Fray – VII. Concretion

-You woke to a chilled room, the scent of moisture filling the empty space. At some point during your slumber, the warmth had returned underneath the cover and filled in the space between it and you. You could feel a frost on your nose and as you wrinkled it you could feel the harsh crease on it. Laying there, you were pulled by the warmth and painfully aware of the cold. You lay there debating which you should focus on, which call to heed. In the midst of your debate, the darkness of night was allayed by the sun, as it reached its morning post to rouse you, though you had already woken.
You took a deep chilled breath, filling your lungs and exhaling quickly. You jumped out of bed and pulled on some tattered sweat pants, fraying at the tapered ends. Turning off the upturned lamp, you turned your attention to your desk chair, to the stiff, now, dry sweatshirt. It appeared to be unharmed by the rain’s campaign against day. It was nothing more than stiff. A half smile flashed across your lips and you reached for it. It caught between the chair and the desk. You tugged before you had thought it through. It came loose and as it did, giving way and snapping onto your arm, you saw the fray, having come loose itself, floating in the chilled emptiness behind it.
A quick doubt splashed on your face and you brought it up, over and onto you. The stiffness making you feel a little uncomfortable. You shrugged, lifting it and then letting it settle over you again. A bit of the stiffness dislodged, but still with a feeling of tatter.
In the bathrrom, you found your back pack still dripping rain water, crumpled into the sink, where one of your roommates must have placed it. You picked it up and wrung it out, leaving it outside on the back stoop. The same stoop from which you had shooed away that bird the previous morning. Your bike chain lay tangled at the bottom of the fence, where you had left it in your rush to class amidst the deluge. You walked around the house and found your bike fallen over on the still dampened grass, the U-lock holding to it.
Turning away, you jogged off toward the campus. With each falling step, you could feel the remnants of the rain’s battle, left in the insoles of your cross-trainers. A squishy feeling that made the jog begin to loose it’s usual ease. Your feet felt heavier, as if the remaining drops were still combative, even in their defeat, as the sun shone in the sky. You jogged anyway. You continued until the stiffness of the sweatshirt had given way to the sweat pouring out of you. Its defenses down, but this time it was you who had broken them. And it was not until you had done so, that your mind was liberated. To that moment, the only thought to trace its outline in your mind, was that of the floating fray, of falling, of crashing, as you had done the previous day.
Crashed into her, your classmate, the one with the radiant smile that always distracted you, catching your attention during drawn out lectures. That smile which drew you away from the theories and beliefs of great thinkers to that space where you composed your dreams, your hopes of possibility. It was these, in fact, which had been the impetus for the dreams that had roused you hours ago, when the dieuretic effect of coffee drove you from your bed. You came back to these, to the dreams, to the thoughts on possibility, to that space to which you disappeared during the lectures which competed always against that radiant smile. You came to these as your sweatshirt succumbed to the weight of sweat and slumped over, its stiffness stolen by fresh moisture, your moisture, the outcome of your war against defeat. This was your victory, as your muscles began to ache a little and the sweat poured down your brow.
Your clear head allowed you to leave behind the thought of falling and for a second there was no thought at all. Simply clarity, breath, the rhythmic sound of your beating heart. It was this same rhythm, after your aching victory, which led you back to the pattern of dreaming which had made your heart race, and again you could feel its pace quicken, even as it was already quickened by your motion. At that moment, even the squishing in your cross-trainers ceased to be felt. The realization returned. You saw it clearly as you set down step after step. Your stride auotmatic. The aching disappeared and you continued forward. As if chasing radiance.
You lost track of steps and of time and before you knew it, you found yourself still jogging, heaving a dry breath, as there was little water left in you. You had poured yourself into your sweatshirt. Your eyelids stuck to themselves in the soft breeze blowing. They felt warm and heavy. Then feeling returned to your body, an aching. You stopped and realized you had jogged the four miles into downtown and you wondered why you hadn’t noticed, even amidst the heavy layer of chemicals in the air, the dark clouds released of engines and industrial sites. Standing there on the corner of Figueroua and Hope, you smiled as you realized the same thread which had connected your dreams, had connected your steps and guided your way.