Freedom

The melody begins to flow. It starts off fragile and tender before tiptoeing its way up into a deep rumble, like a lion stalking its prey. It's slow and hushed with heavy pauses dancing throughout. With careful vigilance it begins to build momentum, the fuller notes blending with the soprano and transforming the once gentle tune into a suspenseful boiling grumble—the same way the large cat might growl to himself when he senses that his target has just lost the fight for its life. It's over. With one final, abrupt strum the song erupts into a roaring fight between life and death, joy and despair, hope and misery.

The floor joins into the melodious war as it creaks beneath my tempo-driven foot. My body rocks back and forth, careening with bliss; the kind of bliss that only one accustomed to the alluring pull of harmoniously, interwoven sound has ever experienced. It's tranquility and danger, passion and fury, torment and yearning. A beautiful, flowing masterpiece. It shimmies its way through my ear canal to whirl and sway with my soul.

This is what I needed.

This one melody captures the essence of my entire being. It's the soft, careful disappointment I felt the day my father distanced himself from me, the hungry regret I felt the day I realized why, and the angry fervor of guilt when I placed all the blame on my own feeble shoulders. And then the song slows, a gentle release. The tumbling pieces of a shattered heart quieting to a still.

I feel the tears as they kiss the contours of my face, leaving wet trails in their wake like snails. This is it. The healing. I can feel it. I'm letting go. The grip I've had on my guilt, the festering disease-like infection eating away my happiness, is finally being freed. I take quivery breaths as the song comes to an end. The still silence going unnoticed as my mind tries to grasp what has just taken place.

I'm free. Completely free.

(Excerpt from my book "Porcelain Skin")