Ducks and Geese

I sat quietly on a bench outside of the hospital, my feet dangling in the air beneath. The pond was a soothing presence in front of me, right past the arch and pillars of the emergency room. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the waters, the emotional shut down allowing my system to do some much needed recovery. 
  
I felt my lungs expand and contract, breath coming in and out, not sure how things had gotten this bad but only convinced that this raw space was never one I wanted to be in again. With one touch I felt as if I would be shattered; the instability was that real. 

Maybe I sat there for minutes, maybe hours--I was there for a while, waiting for a call from my father to assure me that if I admitted myself into the psychiatric hospital that our insurance would pay for it.

My lungs were expanding and contracting. In and out. 

My lungs. 
Expanding. 
Expanding. 
My lungs.

The water was nice. Soothing. Steady. Unchanging. 

My lungs.  
My lungs. 

My chest hurts.

I heard a quack to my right and my eyes were drawn a grassy hill in front of the hospital where geese and ducks were together. I observed them as if through a haze, my eyes opening and closing slowly. I observed the duck feathers, the brown hues with indigo highlights, the orange bill that shines like the glassy black eyes one inch behind, the webbed feet and the plump body and all the beauty that is. The ducks and geese are peaceful on the grassy hill.

My eyes open, close.
My lungs expanding.

All at once a white goose scoops a duck's neck up in its bill and clamps down and the duck is squawking and

My chest hurts

and the goose is pinning the squawking duck into the grass as it bites at its neck and 

My chest hurts and my breathing becomes panicked

and the duck is hurting and the goose is not listening and somehow

My chest hurts and my breathing becomes panicked and tears are running down my face and why are no other geese or ducks stopping the violence and pain right front of them

and the duck is flapping its wings and the goose is relentless but finally after much flapping relents and the two birds walk away from each other and 

My chest hurts and I'm weeping and I just ache and want it all to be better.

I just ache and want to be better.

I just ache.  

*  *  *

The tears are still steady, but my breathing has slowed. Eyes are glazed once again, overlooking the steady pond and the quite lap of the water against the grassy edge. A car pulls up to the ER, and two men walk out--one going inside, and the other stepping in front of my bench.

"Do you mind if I sit here, miss?" I look up at the man, the sun behind his face making it hard to read his facial gestures. I nod and scoot to my right, putting my small bag of possessions on the ground next to me. He sits, and lets out a sigh. I sniffle beside him, the ducks and geese still heavy on my mind. 

We sit in silence for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts.

"You don't look okay," he said, commenting on my tear-stained face. 

I let out a laugh, "Yeah."

"You here to get help?" he asked.  I see the concern etched in his face.

"You could say that," I replied, nodding.

"Me too. My son brought me here. My name is Shawn."

I smile, introducing myself in reply. We sit in silence a bit longer.

"I'm a struggling alcoholic. I was going good, real good, and then the depression...it just crushed me. I want to stop, I just can't. I want to stop, I just can't. I want to stop. The depression...I don't know. My son brought me here, it's really hard on my son. It's really hard."

My struggle is different, but I know struggle, too. There's a sense of togetherness between us.

We look out onto the pond, the quiet pond, the pond with little waves lapping at the edges. 

I find myself thinking of ducks and geese, and how sometimes we're ducks whose necks are being strangled and sometimes we're geese doing the strangling, but we're always birds. 

And I find myself thinking of the moment of violence over something unknown between two birds and the moment of connection over shared pain between two humans and something about it connects deeply within me as something beautifully paradoxical.
  
And I find myself thinking of how Shawn and I are both so raw and fragile, and choosing the strength of surrender. Soon we will enter the hospital behind us to be reminded of the breadth and expanse of our indigo-hued wings until we remember ourselves.

My lungs expand, and my lungs contract.

My feathers are ruffled; I am ready.