A Temporary Fix - Part One

It was a chilly outside when Julie stepped out of her car to start her morning run at the local park. A crisp breeze urged the sun-kissed leaves to welcome Julie into her sanctuary and start her run. She usually runs in this park for hours; contemplating her life, religion, and the most common thought was love. This particular morning though she ran in an old t-shirt that had once been the emblem of her being. It was a brown shirt of a Christian band, one of those shirts that turns a dirty or commonly known pop culture icon and makes it “cookie-cutter family” friendly. The shirt is now torn at the sleeves and cut in front to help Julie’s need to breathe. She always had a need to breathe; feeling confined and caged to her mind most of the time. Being bound to be what the old running shirt wanted her to be, because for example when she ran past elderly couples, they waved. It was obvious these couples waved because her shirt portrayed a life-style that was pleasing to see on a young adult in what is considered now a hell- bound world. Julie always politely waved back, even though she knew it was under false pretenses. If these couples knew what Julie really thought about on her morning runs they probably would take back those waves of pure judgment.
Julie’s shoes that she ran in were given by her mother. When Julie ran she pictured her childhood home and would take hold of an imaginary pencil. This pencil was her way of fixing what was and when this didn’t work, out came the red sharpie. One of the strongest moments that always provoked Julie’s blood to rise was a memory of when she was ten years old. It didn’t ever matter how much time had passed, Julie still remembered that night. She was sitting on her bed full of Disney splendor. Her room was like this castle, pink and full of budding femininity; she was a suburban princess. However everything pertaining to that kingdom didn’t start or end like in fairytales, just like how the ruffled bubble-gum pink canopy didn’t keep the sin-monsters from coming to her. Sometimes things just stayed bad, no matter how beautiful the scenery around her might have seemed; she felt no attachment to any of it. Little Julie sat there on her bed; just waiting, listening for the footsteps. During these thoughts as she ran, she would hasten; tightening her face and exposing the truth through her blood shot eyes. The footsteps got louder and louder reminding her of the first time she was touched, held like a man’s toy. Normally that feeling is pleasant, that is to an adult, but at ten it’s nothing more than just a violation of her childhood. This one time would keep her trapped from that ever feeling fine about her body; it would remain dirty, un-whole and un-fit for a man to love. Jolting past the dying trees, but she didn’t care as the dead leaves danced their last breath at her feet. She felt as if they were somehow linked to the red sharpie just killed and marked what was considered wrong. It made her face lighten as through the memory was now those dead leaves that are crunched by her feet. This was the phase one of her run, releasing the life experiences that could not be fixed, not even by the imaginary red sharpie she pictured in her mind.


-Parts 2 and 3 coming soon-