​​​​Stewart Dawson

                  Rivers of Babylon

                           “Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable…” 
                                                                                                                 (Psalms 19:14)

​“I am who I am,” Alex said to no one. “I am not anyone else. Take me or leave me. What the hell?” They all chose to leave him. There should have been a message there: Alex could not find his soul mate. It was simple. He knew she was out there, somewhere in the churning, frothing water, but the search seemed in vain. No matter where he plunged, she was maybe just a short swim away, if he could manage to flail in that direction.

      He could pass someone on the street, give a glance and not ever know. He could be alone in an elevator with someone, nod politely and not ever know. He could catch the eyes of someone coming across on the ferry. He could sit across from her on the plane. He feared she had already approached, slipped by his presence and left. What then? But he would never know.

     Maybe Alex set his sights too high. But that was his way. There was no changing that. Jump into the frigid, jagged river at any cost! …Tis better to fancy and take a licking as they say… than to live life without ever jumping off the high rock into the deep hole without a clue. Alex learned how to swim, but getting to the shore was always an issue. Sometimes the shore was a long way off and the water could be icepick cold.

     Maybe the river was too wide. Maybe Alex talked too much. Maybe he was a pompous and insufferable ass. Maybe he was a helpless, hapless and hopeless fool. Maybe he just didn’t have any idea what the fuck he was doing. Maybe the river was just too god-damn wide. 

     But he kept swimming. The promise of the warm bed, even if, all by himself, was so much better than the certainty of the cold grave… all by himself.