Hanging Out

Hanging Out

One morning I decided that I wasn’t going to wait for cancer, an accident, dementia, or suicide to finish this trip called life.

No longer interested in writing, dancing, teaching, sex, eating, drinking and such, I climbed the tallest tree in the park dressed in my finest nakedness.

I sat in the neck of the tree and got comfortable by resting my arms on the limbs like a rosy crucifixion.

It took awhile for people to notice me as few people look up to the sky, so I enjoyed looking down at them.

Children who are more apt to be more curious than adults soon found me, pointed fingers, laughed, and threw sticks and stones to dislodge me.

Adults were shocked to see me, pulled their children from the tree and explained that the man in the tree was crazy and should be put away in a loony bin.

But bureaucracy takes a long time to set in motion, so before the system kicked in, I received several visitors.

My mother called me shameful, my sister begged me to come down, my lovers ignored me, tango dancers found others, my children checked copies of my will and insurances, my boss replaced me, and as life went on, I became less of a curiosity.

However, the banks that held the mortgage and my car left threatening notices at the bottom of the tree, only to be blown away by the wind.

The authorities never showed up – counselors, police, welfare, doctors, and lawyers had more pressing cases.

As the seasons changed, I grew bored of sitting on my perch watching people who never changed.

And when the time came, I took leave of me in the tree.