The Crossing

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It was windy outside. He laid in his bed huddled up in between his thick duvet and his orthopedic mattress, the dust coming in from the opened windows seemed to form its own sheet above everything else in the room. The books, ottoman, chairs, stools, everything with a surface was covered with a duvet of dust.The harmattan was collecting it’s toll fees, it was all cold and dried at the same time, chaffed lips and ashen skin, an enjoyable feeling if you had experienced the vengeful heat a month ago. The laptop was opened before him, cursor blinking curiously, as if to ask why he wasn't typing in any word, the way pups sit on their haunches with adorable heads cocked to one side trying to comprehend your being.

Ironically, the first word was not his problem. He could easily type,”me, you, am,”or even a random number. The menacing problem was the next word, the one after that, then the one after that, then entire sentence. The space between here and where I want to be that scares me. Standing at the mouth of the desert, trying to envision what the other end might look like. This desert, the great gulf of emptiness, there was an end, sometimes an oasis in between the beginning and the end. What if he died of thirst before he reached the oasis or the end of the desert? This niggling question was ancient.

Only then did he remember those years ago. Years when he wasn't more than two feet tall, with all that fat cuteness, in swaddling clothes, placing one foot in front of the other, so precariously. Sometimes he fell miles ahead of his oasis with a few scratches. It was a trick he needed to teach himself again, at this very moment to learn how to take baby steps and keep reminding himself that even the greatest of the greats did not become champions at birth.

Fear, not writer’s block or any fancy label people like to put on things. Fear was the problem. Fear of failing. Fear of being a mediocre or becoming a joke. But you never know, if you never try. Sometimes all you need to know was how to start and just do that,”start” and imagine the end, expect nothing. The words danced in his head, his fear stood still unshaken by the music his thoughts played and unwavering sentry. Without fear there would be no courage. He smile. He typed his first word, “It”.