Harold’s hand smacks the cave wall just beside my head, “Why did you ever come here?”
“Something deep within me,” My voice trembling even though I try not to appear shaken.
Harold smacks the cave wall again, “The question was rhetorical.” He punches the wall with his fist and then steps back hands on hips.
I study Harold as he stands quietly staring at me. He strokes his beard. He crosses his arms. When his hands return to his hips, he pats his feet.
His facial expression changes as well. His thick brows nearly cover his eyes as he squints at me or as he scowls. The corner of his mouth pulls up to his left when he strokes his beard with his right hand. His nostrils of his oversized nose flare when he crosses his arms and while he pats his feet with hands on hips.
Finally, he steps close to me and nearly whispers, “Why do you want to stay?”
I assess the question and feel I must be clear, “I only wish to visit a little while and then leave.”
“Understood,” there is a small pause while he exhales and rubs his beard-covered chin. “But why?”
I realize I don’t really know why other than he told me to go. Of course, that was after I tried to leave and he forcibly demanded I stay. I doubt if he will appreciate an honest answer.
“I want to get to know you,” these words tumble from my lips to my own surprise. I don’t remember thinking them first.
“I don’t want you to know me and I know all I want to know about you,” his strong confident words betray his soft tone.
“I don’t think you know me at all,” I do remember thinking these words before I said them. But I remember thinking I’d be stupid to say them.
“I know you’re a thief disrespectful of other’s personal property as well as there personal space.”
“I did do that, but that’s not who I am,” I think and say these words in my defense and to my shame. “I was wrong.”
“So, what possessed you to believe it was the right thing to do at that moment? The cave is obviously lived in – bedding, neatness, orderliness.”
His words are hard to hear. I observed all of that just as he says. What he says next is so accurate that it causes my knees to buckle and it feels like my heart goes limp.
“You thought a homeless person lives here and because they’re homeless and you’re not you can do whatever you want.”
“No, I didn’t think that at all,” I deny it. I have to deny it. That’s not who I am. I’ve given money to homeless people. I’ve bought homeless meals before, sat and chatted with them. “I don’t know what I possibly was thinking at that moment.”
“I think you do know. You heard someone coming and you ran. If you really wanted to get to know this person, why did you run?”
“I thought they’d be angry and I didn’t know how they’d respond?”
“Be angry for what? Respond to what? Be angry for your intrusion? Respond to your inconsiderate invasion of personal property. You did know you were wrong at that moment and yet, you still took my property.”
Harold’s voice rises with each of the evidences in his argument. I am left face to face with my biases and indiscretions.
I know this is the nature of my natural man. It is my default setting. It is who I am, naturally. But within me is another nature. I had hoped that by this time in my life I would be less self motivated and more self aware.
“Everything you say is accurate. The best I can do now is confess that I have terribly wronged you and disrespected you. I am sorry.”
Harold approaches me. There is still much anger in his demeanor. He inhales deeply and slowly exhales. The anger seems to diminish with the slow release of air.
“I will understand if you still want me to leave,” I turn and head to exit the cave.
Harold says nothing and does nothing to stop me. Once outside, I turn to take one last look at my discovery in the cave.
I write about what I'm thinking or what I've imagined in an effort to regain that childhood imagination and marry with my many years of real experiences. I'm getting better at it the more I write.I am a published author of two romantic intrigue novels.My books can be found at Amazon.com or if you want a personalized copy, by emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org.