Dancing On The Abyss

You can see her dancing above the abyss. In searching for happiness sometimes our broken wiring causes us to chase after illusion. She sat in the break-room, holding an unlit cigarette speaking a steady stream of commentary, “I almost punched the guy in the parking lot. Haven’t had a cigarette yet—waiting to have this one. My I’m negative today and not even onto my first cigarette.” Her skin and perhaps some old nod to normalcy keeps shaking at bay. Still there’s a wiry tension there as though she will start shaking, jump out of her skin—some lack of calm. Still when the words stop the dirt-ingrained nicotine stained fingers keep moving the cigarette in a variety of arcs.


Short years ago she worked in the floral department; married, two young children; husband seemed a nice guy. Even then there was a mild tempest below the surface. When she engaged you in conversation you could hear the Sirens calling. Short circuits led to divorce and keeping company with the wrong crowd. Husband got the kids—most of all for their own safety.

Mary said, “She’s doing well. She’s getting back on track; working a small yogurt shop in town.” The lies seem less so if we give them spoken voice. To admit that people chase bad choices is so negative.

We all want happiness. All our wiring is broken, all of our silicon imprinted with wrong information. We need a patch to get us back on track. Dancing on the abyss is so slippery…