Crazy Walkabout by Nola Becket

[Nola Becket]

Don't go out alone when you're mad. The only way to get home may be to go crazy. But maybe I was already crazy, like Webster said, "full of cracks or flaws; unsound...distracted with eager desire, excitement."

I knew I was full of flaws. I accepted them, well, most of them. I was told I was proud of some of them. They set me apart. Apart. A part. That's why I had to go out alone. To be a part, I had to be apart. One of the parts in a partnership! That's what I wanted. But it wasn't easy. Especially when I was mad.

Madness was my defense. Madness was splitting me apart. I needed to be apart, so I went on a crazy walkabout. Sarah said it was crazy. Walking after dark was definitely unsound. But what was sound about feeling hurt and being mad? I couldn't talk about what hurt. That was one of my flaws, a definite unsound crack!

What could you do about being mad anyway? Move past it! Getting over madness was actually the easy part. Getting mad, that was the hard part. A brisk walk down past the corner grocer, down the hill by the freeway, under the bridge, and past the pizza parlor, past the rundown apartments, pumped out all the madness leaving a quiet space to turn around and start home.

That's when I saw them, two men, filling the sidewalk with their foreboding strangeness, unknown commitments, too late night selves. There wasn't anyone else around. Why should there be? This was not the promenade, not main street. It was OK back in Huntersville to walkabout for anger on dark streets. But that was a long time ago, in another world, a world of friends and neighbors, a world of stars and hiding just to kick-the-can. I knew I had to hide that night when there was no place to hide. The prize was so much more than a kick. The prize was kicking, ever again.

This time the madness came easy and felt different, an envelope of craziness to get me by the fear of passing men who didn't know I was a mother, wife, and fellowhuman. I knew they didn't care if I hurt or if they could hurt me. I knew the madness worked for me this time, to keep from hurting.

Fast walking, flailing arms, murmuring outraged lessons, I made my way home, apart, crazy. They moved away and watched out of the corners of eyes startled by madness, a cold madness, warning them not to become distracted with eager desire. Not to be crazy.