You’re telling me to “go ahead,” but I stare at you instead. You nudge your head in the direction of the ladder. “Go on,” it seems to say.
Still, I stay…
Paused. Can’t move.
This is déjà vu.
The sound of a jet overhead sounds like ripping a piece of cardboard from the other side of a railroad tunnel. It echoes from far, far away. I pause. I listen. I warm my hands on my coffee mug and observe.
The crinkle and pop of the leaves in the morning time turns my head toward them… the rooster’s crowing draws my eyes to the dark horizon…
It’s so often we come here. Don’t you think?
I turn my head to you with a grin. You turn to me, lazy-eyed, and grin back.
This time, it’s you and this ladder. Some time before that, it was them and that tree.
I look out at the trees in front of me and remember it for you. A chant emerges inside my mind that wriggles movement into my limbs like I’m back in recess.
We climbed so high, we touched tha sky…
Then, I felt sick because I looked down to find a limb for my foot and saw how high up in the sky we were. That meant if my clumsiness got me this time, I’d fall…
all…
that…
way…
down.
Without my consent, some kind of vibrating machine went off inside my body, you see.
Wait. Are my hands sweating?
My whole body droops in a wave. I’m really, really tired from climbing this darn tree. I need a minute.
Everyone else is already moving, but I can’t. By the time I can, they’re gone, calling up from below.
I’d been focusing on the branch in front of me. Of how strong my hands were, holding onto that limb. Of the tree trunk next to me and all its colors and textures.
I didn’t move. I didn’t think I could. Couldn’t reach out and touch them. But I thought of what they felt like.
The rough bark.
The old man’s beard… chalky white whiskers between my fingers. Like my grandfather’s sideburns?
When I found my voice, my sister was the one who climbed up to guide my feet.
Step, step, step… One branch at a time. She guided my feet from a place below.
I hear your voice saying it now.
Step, step, step…
You couldn’t climb the ladder, couldn’t guide me down. Would it support the two of us? Plus, you didn’t know what I’d do. I could flail about in my chaos and bring us both down.
From below, though, I heard you – the incredulous sound of your voice. It wasn’t sure it was necessary, but it offered the encouragement anyway. Is this a con? is asked. It thought it sounded like a schmuck.
To me, a breath of fresh aid– I mean, air.
Blank stare.
This is déjà vu.
Only, you don’t know it.
This time, it’s you and the swinging bridge.
I’m watching it echo your steps with jump, jump, jump… jump… jump
… jump.
They grow smaller and slower each time they come, but my stomach is watching them with a lurching nod. My shoulders go up. My head drops low. I’m leaning forward – the turtle emerged.
If I can tread with a light roll, I might just escape it.
My nerves will make me rush the pace, so I don’t. No escape.
Whole body lurching forward now, my eyes strain to focus on what’s ahead.
Instead.
Instead of what’s in the peripheral.
Instead of what scares me.
This is déjà vu.
Only, you don’t know it.
Your voice sounds so far away. Though, as I’m looking out ahead and moving my blind feet, I hear you.
“Step,” you say.
I step.
“Step.”
I step again.
Red-nosed and pit-stained by the time I touch down, my face looks like I won a race. The relief distracts me from your baffled expression. I clock it, however, and hee-haw over it later.
I must inform you this is déjà vu and thank you.