Yeah... Reckon I done heard enough. If tha past got somethin' left ta say, tell it catch up. Been draggin' dead weight so long ma spine damn near bent 'round twice, every old slight got a chair in tha kitchen, feet on table like it be payin' rent an' I’m the fool still servin' plates. Nah. Git yer boots off ma floor. I done argued wi' ghosts, cross-talked memories till tha facts got sore, took a bad minute, turned it ten ways, held it up ta tha sun like maybe this angle explains more. …It don't. Some shit happened. Some shit hurt. Some shit I caused, some shit I caught, some shit got stretched till it all worn thin… … an' everybody still swear they got tha first tellin'. …Fine. Keep it. I got miles ahead n' enough sense now not ta build a damn porch facin' backward. Reckonin' ain't residence. Get thee behind me. Suppose that's plain enough. Git thee behind me, I ain't draggin' ya where I'm goin'. Keep talkin' hell, shout if ya need to. I got both feet pointed forward an' tha road ain't gettin' shorter. Git thee behind me. If ya still got hold o' somethin', it ain't me. See, that's tha part folk miss movin' on ain't amnesia, ain't scrubbin' names off walls, ain't actin' holy now like I never threw a brick through somebody else's peace. I remember. …Too damn well sometimes. But memory ain't a landlord an' guilt ain't got deed rights just 'cause it knows where I sleep. Had enough nights pickin' apart who meant what, who started which fire, who held what grudge, who holler'd first, who cried last whole courtroom in ma skull an' everybody objectin' but nobody got sense enough ta adjourn. …So I did… …Banged ma own gavel. Case ain't vanished, jus' quit lettin' it schedule ma mornings. Ya hear me? I ain't carryin' yesterday like some cracked-screen phone I refuse ta replace 'cause all tha old messages still sittin' in it. Delete? Nah. Archive. Different thing. Back yonder can holler. Back yonder can swear. Back yonder can write ma name ten feet tall. I ain't turnin'. Git thee behind me, I ain't draggin' ya where I'm goin'. Keep talkin' hell, shout if ya need to. I got both feet pointed forward an' tha road ain't gettin' shorter. Git thee behind me. If ya still got hold o' somethin', it ain't me. An' don't mistake quiet fo' weakness neither. I done burned enough breath tryin' ta make folk understand a sentence they entered already plannin' ta misquote. So now? Say what ya reckon. Paint me red, paint me crooked, paint me some villain in yer version if it helps ya sleep. I got chores. Got work. Got music. Got people worth answerin'. Ain't got all day ta keep defendin' myself against a courtroom that moves tha walls every time I find tha door. …Funny thing once ya stop feedin' every argument, half of 'em starve on their own. Other half? Let 'em graze. I ain't ma own pasture no more. One foot. N' 'nother foot. Ain't speakin' from tha hilltop, Ain' a grand damn trumpet sayin' "look y'all, he healed." Jus' this: one mornin' I noticed tha weight weren't where I left it. Maybe I set it down. Maybe it got tired o' me too. Either way I ain't pickin' it back up. Git thee behind me. No hate. Still care. Jus' done. Behind. I got enough ahead of me without draggin' every past self by tha ankle. Git thee behind me. Say ma name if ya need it. By tha time ya finish, I'll be somewhere else. Reckon that's that. Door's open. Road too. Choose whichever one ain't mine.
