Chit chat with Future Me
Flags, courage, gardening, and staying the course....
Future Me was hanging around over the weekend, especially on Saturday as I finished my Pride in the Flag flag. She has been conspicuously ABSENT for a good while, since Breathing space. I don't blame her in a way. I've certainly wanted to abscond to distant lands.
I do not have the luxury of time travel. She, however, possesses fairy-godlike abilities, usually for which I am grateful. This weekend her presence was minimal, yet soothing, as though she kept the rain from falling until I could photograph Pride on the laundry line.
She didn't say much, perhaps our conversations are mostly of an ethereal nature, absorbed like breathing. Sometimes her voice wafts softly, often she snorts sharply. She does a lot of snorting, smirking, eye rolling, as though I'm a truculent child in constant need of being upbraided. Or maybe she's weary of this on-off-on again existence, wishing she could retire to sew or write or garden until her heart cried UNCLE.
She gazes at me, not a frown or smirk. We don't like gardening, she says quietly.
No, we don't, I agree. I am thinking about planting flowers from seeds this year, I add, wondering how she'll respond.
She nods. You should. They'd be pretty.
Need to clear a space for them, I proffer.
He can do that for you, her voice almost a smile.
The he is our husband. My husband, whatever! Timeline conflabs get tricky, trying not to think of myself in the third person, or even as plural. Yes, he can, I say, not wanting to drive her away. She's here for a reason, or maybe I'm asking for trouble, hoping for information from beyond where I now reside.
She snorts, and I smile. She never gives up anything concrete, merely flitting around like a butterfly, wanting me to notice something other than my navel.
Now she clears her throat. Yet she hesitates. Yes, I ask softly, truly not wanting to know more than I should, nor do I want her to leave. Something comforting about oneself from the future, if for nothing more than imagining there is a future with me in it.
Lots of obstacles, she murmurs.
Really?
She shrugs, then nods, again clearing her throat. Just as she starts to speak, she pauses, then turns away.
Do I keep staying the course, I query with mild trepidation.
She faces me again, nodding with vigor. Oh yes, certainly. She smirks, then clasps her hands in front of her.
A long silence feels like knives, coarse words, grimaces, aching steps taken for no purpose other than gaining steps (a topic for another entry). I'm going to wave my gorgeous new flag in front of our local courthouse today amid rain, strong winds, and of course the outward foolishness of such an endeavor in my small section of the country, not to mention it's only a flag, no words of protest or clamor. Just one person raising....
A ruckus, she smiles. Raise a big ruckus, as large as you can. Dance in boots, fly that flag as highly as your arms can reach. Hold on to it, she then snorts. It's going to be very windy out today.
I nod, a fluttering within my chest like the heavens have opened right here in my office.
And keep raising it, she concludes, walking away.
Keep raising what, I call.
She glances back, her brassy smile like a shining star. Raise a little hell, she grins. Then she faces the horizon, heading into a virtual sun.
