Does the Mockingbird Sing in New York?

Story ID:	181
Written by:	Yvonne K. Meckfessel
Story type:	Diary/Journal Entry
Location:	Olney IL United States
Year:	1986

I am surrounded by things that I know ... the mockingbird that sits on the lightpole and sings his early morning songs. I know when the spring rains come, the creek that I can see from my dining room window will overflow, and that a certain little boy will be knee-deep in water and mud, searching for tadpoles. When I start off on my daily walk, I know that my favorite dog will take the path on the left, rather than the one on the right, because he knows that is always the path that we take. I know where the crocus and Easter flowers will come up in the yard and which tree had a nest of robins in it the year before. I know which friends I can count on for different things and I also know, just from a glance, when a friend needs to talk. I know the smell of my horse's breath and the feeling of a dog's paw on my leg. I know just how long it will take me to drive to town and back ... and which dog will greet me when I turn into the driveway. I know what time the school bus will go by and just how it felt to put each of my three sons on it for the first time, many years ago. I know the cemetery that my middle son is buried in and I still know, all to well, the pain of losing him. I know the beautiful sunsets in the evening and how the coyotes howl at night, as the birds make their final nightly call. Years of knowing. Years of security.

I have finally acknowledged that my marriage has died a long, slow, lonely death. No love, no warmth ... just barely an existence. My mind quickly tallies the reasons for leaving against the reasons for staying. I know that it is over. But more questions than answers keep whirling about in my confused mind. Should I stay in the same neighborhood, wrapping myself in a thin veil of known security or should I move to a small neighboring town, and give up my friends and neighbors and the only way of life I know? There seems to be very little hope of finding another job in the surrounding area. A letter from Sally the other day telling me about the many opportunities in New York has left me so scared and even more confused. New York is as foreign to me as Kitwe in Zambia.

In the midst of all of my broken dreams, I know now that I have to pack up a few belongings and go into the world of unknowns. It is a frightening idea, to go down unfamiliar streets, look into faces whose gaze seem to be unaware of my existence. To no longer be greeted with that smile of recognition. I know that I will have to struggle a little more, work harder, pray more often. I will have to bravely, and sometimes not so bravely (I suppose), march forward into the battle called life. These battles are not what I had planned. My child was not to die, my marriage was to be a loving, stable one and I would have my job until I was ready to retire.

I have to make my choice.....to live among memories and what could have been, or to go out alone among the unknown ... the nameless faces, the untrusty dogs, the unfamiliar sunsets and strange mocking birds .... to intrude upon someone else's memories and routine. To make the choice all over again, should I take the left or right path?