Moderation

I can feel the soles of my feet pounding against the soft, hot pavement, all the way through the rubber and padding and who knows what of my tennis shoes, which according to Nike or Adidas or someone who I've never met or seen the way I'm seeing things now, is there supposedly to pull them apart. My fingers twitch as something inside me squirms restless.

Somewhere, half a mile past the point where I stopped last night, the ghost of me separates from my skin, pulling apart, pulling ahead. I shiver.

She runs barefoot, the way I would if I wasn't so scared. I can see the dirty pads of her feet, a darker shade of pale. I can see her face, as if she was turned to me. I can see her smile. I push farther forward, my breathing sounding a little less fine; it's a lot harder to run when the squirming, restless thing that used to be inside of me is farther ahead of me now, running soundless, and pale white in the absolute silent dark, taking anything she could with her. But I pull harder. Eyes tearing up from the wind, blurring my vision like an old film. Heart like a Nazi machine gun. 

We match paces, my mouth is made of sandpaper. Her smile is falling. She wants me to lose. She wants me to stop. I should stop. I should turn around. I should fold like a bad hand of cards. I should be sleeping. I should be taking pills to get to sleep at least. I should be high. I'm not. I don't. I don't feel like getting stuck in this haunted town again tonight. She moves faster. I breathe harder.

I pull ahead the way I always do when I think I should be slowing down. I do the opposite of what I want. Half the time it works. I can't feel the hot, soft pavement any more, my breathing no longer exists. These things are too physical for a moment like now. They are pain, and I am adrenaline. They don't exist when I'm around.

Somewhere my ghost is falling behind. I can see her slowing down in the corner of my eye. She is giving up. She is stopping where everyone else always stops, which is nowhere. Which is made nowhere because that is where everyone is. Now, you make it where no one has, and you've made it somewhere. I can see her face behind me, as I'm staring straight ahead.

The soundtrack to my life should be playing. Things should be happening. I am winning. I am beating her ghost.

I am getting out of this ******* haunted town.

Delainey LaHood-Burns