Stay: Who?

I dilly-dally my way behind houses and across lawns, the smack-smack of my flip-flops against the pavement providing the processional in time to an acoustic crooner. The melody is slightly flat. The harmony is a discord. 

The sun is kind today. It kisses the crook behind my elbow, the corner between my neck and shoulder. I shouldn't trust the sun, this temperamental tempter, dressing me in spring. But I don't care today. Let the sun seduce me. I've other temptations to worry about. 

Between dull chords and the chitting of birds an owl sends waves of worry through me with his question: "Who? Who?"

Silently, "I don't know." 

"Who? Who?"

The chords mold into bricks, the birds are swallowed in the soil. I only know a dormant tree playing host to this mocking interrogator. 

"You should know better." 

"I do-"

"You don't act like it."

His swiveling eyes search me. He shakes his head.

"You don't believe it." 

"I don't know what I believe."

"...Or what you want."

"Yes, yes, so you know." 

"And you don't."

The tree looked dead, but I knew it wasn't. I believed it wasn't. I knew when the sun decided to stay, it would kiss the tree's fingertips into beautiful buds of pagan green.

"Hmm... pagan... eh?"

"Don't you dare."

"I'm just sayin'. ..."

I take a moment to solidify my bones and the blood forming inside of them. When I know, I feel it in my bones. I need them strong if I intend to stay alive. 

"It's different when we get beyond all that flesh and muscle isn't it?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you sure this isn't just the natural man breaking away your bones?"

"..."

"..."

No, I don't know. This is entirely new to me. I suddenly feel cold--from the inside. 

"Chilly? Isn't it?"

"Shut up you warm-blooded freak of an animal!"

"You shouldn't call yourself names like that."

"Who? Why!? More importantly: How!!??!!"

"Now you're getting somewhere."

Suddenly, I see a small kitchen crowded with bare feet and squeals of laughter.  We're dancing.

Then the picture goes blank.

"Now you're just going backwards."

"By going forwards?"

"You worry about the future too much."

I know there's no guarantee. Maybe I'm expecting too much, but the kitchen isn't much. The red front-door. The garage. 

"Ah, the garage. Too bad it's what came out of that thing that's gotten you into this mess."

"No, I got myself into this mess." 

I'd rather not talk about it. The tree gets lost behind hedges and a house, the door in a fence beckons me with it's hinges. I don't know who, but that's not a door I want to walk through.