The Climb


  Katy Perry and I are making good time as we pump our way up the stairs towards our destination. She never seems to run out of energy but the days journey and the near one thousand stairs we’ve already surmounted have taken their toll on me. Flames are creeping up my legs with a dangerous ferocity but my latent chauvinistic pride stops me from asking the girl to wait for a second.

  She’s still grinning, somehow, her face always upturned, ever looking to the next step. I realise as we climb and as I watch that I’ve never paid this much attention to Katy Perry’s chin, or anyone’s for that matter. Well. Except maybe for hers. The her I’m still hoping is alive twenty miles away so I can apologize for being such a giant douche and take a step on that long road toward forgiveness. All things considered, I can’t help but think, her forgiveness may come easy.

  I know that anyone I used to hold a grudge against would be well and truly absolved at the first sight of them. Life, here on the frozen wastes of Canada, is something far too precious to squander with pettiness and strife. Frank East used to steal my lunch money every Tuesday and Thursday but I’d hug him if he was round the next corner. Abigail Robinson I caught in bed with another guy when I was twenty two – the cliché-tv-drama of it all actually helped me stomach it – but I wouldn’t hold it against her if we ever crossed paths again. Rebecca Ford, an old boss a long time before I grew a pair, fired me for rejecting her advances, but I’d let her slap my ass a hundred times if it meant another soul joining our party of survivors. As Mom always used to say; beggars can’t be choosers.  


~ by Joseph Blame on January 8, 2011.

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