The coo-coo clock inside my head chimes six times—signaling me to listen for Joseph's whistle. Ah ha—there it is—can you hear it? Now, picture this scene: A split screen: Girl, held prisoner by fear inside her house. Boy, whistling, while he and King, pace hopefully back and forth in the alley.
Though my mind is dying to unleash from fear, clip Pixie's leash to her collar and run outside, fear outweighs desire. So I lose, and Joseph does, too.
Actually Joseph loses more, because, today, I have the clear headed objectivity to see how much Joseph cared for me. Unfortunately, Joseph still has no clue that my fear of his passion (MY FEAR OF HIS PASSION! MY Subconscious FEAR OF HIS PASSION! HERE IT IS—THAT AH HA MOMENT, WRITING ITSELF PLAIN AS DAY—
My fear of male passion holds me prisoner inside my house—the only place where I truly feel safe.
Does Joseph sense my fear?
Who knows?
What I do know, today, is this:
Joseph did not just amble away
For the first time ever
Joseph led King down the alley
To the spot where my yard
Met the street
And rather than crossing the street
And walking straight ahead
Joseph and Pixie's friend
Turned right in order to
Pace back and forth
In front of my house
In short, Joseph's
Sense of hope
Was not ready to give up
As for me ...
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