“Don’t.” She says. It isn’t just a warning, it is a rifle pointed right in my nose. We were 12 and 13, and now decades later
Kila is still saying that to me; she knows what kicks me raw in the gut where I keep intuition but now am flinging it out the window – how does she even know these things-
that I’m going to be an idiot again and walk right into a human trap?!
Am meeting old Monily again this afternoon. Monily is bat crazy, and I love the monster. 78, his paranoia drove him into a slum hutment if you can call it that. This time he is a six minute jog away from my lane, what can I say. Saw him last evening, he’s wearing rags, and looking as pleased as if he’d just won a lottery ticket. He drinks, swears like sin, and hates what I say. Never mind. I’m just going to go in there and see what he says. Most likely I’ll get some nasty word in my face, but this is calling me. I mean Monily. A sad face like that shakes the shy out of me. I’m no answer. We’re all in this melting pot called Earth, and we are Loved. We are fantastic, bruises, chips and all. How do I put that all in words? Unsure. I’m a hugger, even after Covid. A leopard can’t change its spots, Kila says. I’m no leopard, just a recipient of grace, love, the kindness of God, the Cross…
face the monster they say. The deadliest one is Shy. Some of us are Bold, even on the outside –
love how they do it. I tried writing a nice note to Monily, then once we baked him a cake. Nothing angered him more. He likes a straight forward look in the eye and chat, if you can just shut up and listen to him. He goes on about politics, health insurance and war. Or he discusses the uselessness of peace treaties. Moni gave up what little wealth he inherited from a grandparent and chooses to live like a gypsy. He’s not shy on the outside, not bold either. Between the two skins he bears, Monily fights a system that misunderstands him. Nothing I can do about that, just be what I am. For real.
There. I got that off my heart. The nerves simmer down to a sizzle.
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