the attempt

I haven’t spoken with anyone in my family since my mother’s funeral nine months ago. I live alone and spend most days staring at the ground. My name is Akbar Kumar, I have been hired by attorneys to scan the sidewalks of New York City and map out all cracks, depressions, protrusions, potholes, whatever might cause someone bodily harm. This information is then submitted to the city so that those injured by the sidewalk can have recourse to sue the city. A child approaches me curious to find out what I am doing. I tell the child that I am making note of all the imperfections in the sidewalk. The child gazes at me quizzically and then walks away. I study the place where that child stood for a while and wonder, what am I doing? Staring at the ground, marking the scars of this ragged city so that people can take advantage. So I step into the busy street, and a taxi catches me under the hip crushing and flinging me into the air. I’m now riding an elephant painted white, decorated with orange and pink fabric, my family looks on from the branches of porcelain trees waving and directing me to throw myself into a crevice of cracked white paint on the elephants shoulder. So I dive in. Into the fridged spring waters, down deep until I fall through the bottom and into a huge car that my father is driving, my feet can’t reach the floor, and he is telling me that I should be a man, never back down, and always look my best. Then there’s nothing – until a man shining light into my eyes yells and the ceiling is rushing by and a woman yells and pain slowly creeps into my body cleaning it of all my sorrow. I feel this pain, and for awhile it feels right and I see what my life should be, but then the pain no longer has clarity but is dull and writhing as I try my best to hold in the vomit. But before I puke clarity returns while I feel the piercing of my skin and my body drinks the needles offering. And then I hear country music and I’m back on the white elephant who tells me his name is Alejandro as we ride through a Mexican village kicking up dust as kids chase behind and Alejandro tells me to never forget were I came from. As I awaken in the hospital I can hear my body buzzing from the trauma, and hear the hustle of hospital chaos, and the haunting hum of cars in the distance. My brothers and father standing over me tell me I made it and ask how I’m doing, but all I can do is cry because now with their solace I can clearly see that problems in life don’t get smaller, our capacity to deal with them gets larger.