I leaned into his space, almost daring him to take a swipe.
Just then, I recognized something in me that I didn’t much care for. I
only fight when I’m attacked, or sure to be attacked, that’s my rule.
But lately I’ve caught myself taking chances, as if I’m coaxing that
rule into play– bending it, even. I knew I should pull back, but the
adrenaline buzz was too sublime to cut short. S#@!, I knew full well what
I was fighting against.
In a word: boredom. I was extemporizing heavily, no doubt, but I was alive
and alert and free from the usual routine, avoiding another tedious,
ass-numbing, clock-watching afternoon at a computer screen. Were I not
here now I’d be zoning at the keyboard, drafting charges against another
schmuck lawyer who couldn’t resist skimming his clients’ settlement
funds, a coke addict who missed the first day of his client’s murder
trial, an overstressed divorce attorney who mailed opposing counsel a used
tampon with a simple note that said “Thinking of you.”
He pointed a finger at me. “You’re dead.”
“You talk a lot,” I replied.
There is a certain
poise that comes with understanding the oceans moods, tapping a pulse borne of a
distinct, untamed, unfathomable energy source. An equilibrium, located on a singular track
between the sucking trough and the pitching crest. A sense of perfect balance on a
rolling, temporary stage, not a single movement wasted. A spray-blinded late takeoff in
roaring Santa Ana winds. A confidence, knowing your instincts wont let you down.
--- from Reef Dance