And so it was, standing tall, flat, frosty, and glossed with a slight luminous glow from a hint of dawn. Santha marched closer, the toe of her boot striking a pebble, sending it skipping over the dusty road. From a few steps away, she paused to look at the monstrosity. What a waste. Of time, of money, of material. A stop sign. Policing an intersection between two dirt roads, over a mile outside of town, where none but a few straggling families still remained. Egregious. To stop anyone here. In the middle of nowhere, on their way to anywhere. Repulsed, her head swung attempting to shake away her disdain.
A fuming breath poured from her nostrils like a bull, fogging her glasses. With a groan she pulled them off, and wiped away the condensation with her sleeve. As Santha stormed onwards she cursed the interruption- to both her trek to class, and her thoughts. Someone should have stopped them, those fools at the city. Without remorse, this inane small town had summoned yet another hurdle to stand in the way of her exit. Hands now pink, her fingers smarting from the cold, she fumbled with the flaps of her flannel coat, and retrieved the flash cards for her physics exam. The first test of her final semester, with Spring soon to arrive, and only months away from her release.
The Sun rose and fell, and the day repeated itself. As Santha walked to school she arrived at the crossing as she always had in the years prior, but now with a new additional obstacle. And again, as the day before, she stopped. The same frustrations arouse. The same anger, a fiery fury at both the stopping and at the presumption that she would stop (whether Santha grew to admit it to herself or not, that she herself had halted under her own volition). All had stopped. Her step, her measured mood, her train of thought, her search for symbols within Shakespeare's King Lear to use in her impending English essay. Blame was thrust upon the obtrusive octagon. She glared a little longer, looking from the post, to the stars, down to the stones that sat kicked off the road side.
With care Santha reached for a large rock. Cold to the touch, she lifted it upward, and weighed it within her palm. Content, she stretched her arm back and let fly, her wrist wooshing as it cut through the last of the night air. Her hand hung frozen as her eyes followed the sailing stone. A satisfying clash rang off the metal's edge, startling something off in a small thicket. The clanging sign sounded off like a bell calling for its prize fighter, and sent Santha's feet flurrying to the ring. Nothing would stop her or her progress, no town, no person, no sign.
Vigour and satisfaction peppered her strides, she knew it wouldn’t be long. Within months her will would change her life. Santha would have a car, she'd have freedom, she’d have purpose, she’d find her community. She'd walk exotic and bustling city streets, not fall to the grimy leeching rigs that littered the acreage surrounding the town, nor for one of the leeches working them, and subject herself to a life of servitude.
Following like clockwork, the days cycled forward as they had before, but now with the stop. Always the same. Always an interruption of thought and stride. Always a striking stone for the sign. The only changes came from variations of distances thrown, sometimes further back to increase the difficulty, and some days a little more time spent throwing when she missed her target.
Slowly but surely Santha began to look forward to the ill placed stop, relishing the art she made marking the sign. Even eager in her mornings for her full ritual, finding perfect rocks as she walked, kicking the ideal stones closer from home like a soccer player until she reached her target. Santha's steps popped with an added spark whenever she made particularly deep dents, or struck in the centre of the “O.” The ritual invigorated her, made her feel stronger, even change her posture.
And so the weeks rolled in further repetition, and with them the pages of the calendar. Daylight creeped brighter, and brighter, and with it her attitude in tow. Her aim was true, she was getting through the end of her classes. The applications to universities sent, the boundaries of the town’s borders were breaking away, chip by chip like paint of the stop sign.
Yet.
Still she stopped.
Near the end of May, on her morning march to the intersection, the light arrived a little earlier. Golden light peaked from the horizon and struck the sign, refracting from its corner. A spectacular spectrum unveiled as she scouted for a stone to throw. Above her, gentle pink pregnant clouds marbled over a powdered blue sky, and for the first time in the past months she saw a different side of her nemesis. Like a statue she stared. Santha's eyes glided over the eight edges, running off the corners to the grass, to the sky, across the skyline, up, down, diagonal. Cemented in her tracks by beauty, she breathed in deep, admitting for the first time that she might actually miss the flats of this forsaken land. Santha felt gratitude, for the town, for the drive within her it fuelled, for the safety in its simplicity, and oddly enough, for giving her the sign to stop and take it all in.
To her haunches she sank, delighting in the different angles and slowly she spun, to take in the entire panorama. The light grew, and reflected off the sign, rolling like a curtain and laminated a large stone by the toe of her sneaker.
Her fingers wrapped around the rock, and she held it to eye level. With the briefest of delays, she took in the stone, its texture, its history, its colour, the moment, and with unadulterated joy she hurled it to the metal, rejoicing in its clang. The metal wagged like a drummer's cymbal, and she stood still, dropping her eyelids, letting the vibrations wash over her skin and sweater, feeling the tiny prickles of the cool air wave across her brow, and lifting loose strands of her hair. She could feel the morning light against the black of her eyes as the bird's songs danced and harmonized. And yet, Santha wasn’t distracted, she was fully aware that she needed to be at school by eight- she also knew that she was fine. Everything was fine. Regardless of having halted, Santha knew she was still moving forward, that the future was both on course, as well as arrived. That while she did not feel a part of this town, she knew that she did belong both in this moment and every other wherever she was, all the same.
Thanks for reading,
-Mr. Write