Hazardous Material
Story
by Christopher Girard
The blacked out truck rumbled silently over the back country road.
I had learned that it is better to do these things at night, than in the
bright glare of the sunlight. The sunlight, it seemed just asked to many
questions. Questions, you were probably not quite ready to answer.
Questions you were maybe never ready to answer.
Sealed in specially constructed drums, in the back of the truck,
were hazardous cargo’s. Real yellow and black label, poisons. Detrimental
and fatal to the human condition, known as life. Each of these hazardous
contaminants had been carefully labeled and sealed. For, when dealing
with such toxic ingredients, it is wise to be not only careful but thorough.
As the truck reached it’s private, distant destination, the
offloading of the drums began. One by one, each drum was lowered into it’s
carefully constructed resting place. Here each drum was buried deep into the
earth and sealed carefully into it’s excavated hole. Each hole was then
hastily, refilled and raked clean.. For it wouldn’t do anyone, any good, to
have someone accidently happen over such a toxic poison.
Thankfully, the days of that fateful night, passed. They coupled
into months and eventually stretched into years. Time, that nonjudgmental
referee, seemed to look on with indifference. The events of that
fateful night seemed to lose importance, the containers, the drums seemed to
lose potency. The present certainly couldn’t concern itself with something
that had happened so long ago. The now, was a jealous mistress that demanded
your time and attention. No use longing for the past, or trying to correct
it’s mistakes. There was plenty to keep you occupied right here, right now.
What I didn’t realize though, is that my toxic cargo, would not be
ignored so easily. Like a jilted girlfriend from my past, it somehow
began to appear in my daily life. I began to see how my toxins were
permeating all aspects of my present life. My defective drums buried in the
earth, had begun leaking poisons into my soil, my world. My land had become
barren and dry. My drinking water, once so clean and pure, had become infected
and tainted with the poisons of my past. My land, my home, my body was
withering and being made sick by those buried toxins.
What I thought I had neatly evaded had come back to even the score.
Escape, true escape, had never really been an option on that moonless
night so long ago. The roads of avoidance and denial do not travel North to
the land of freedom. The road to freedom is clearly and legibly marked by
the sign of acceptance, and is located just one exit up from the town of
forgiveness.
So on an early sunlit morning, assisted by the warmth of spring.
I again traveled that road that I had traveled all those years ago on a
cold and moonless night. The trip was no less painful or made easier by the
questioning sun. But in my heart, in my soul, the alarm had already
silently rung. The time had come to excavate those hazardous materials
from years gone past. Time to excavate, open, feel and properly dispose of
all my hazardous materials. As I spent the day experiencing the effects
of each of my secret drums, I was able to properly dispose of each
contaminated item. The negative emotions, the personal radiation was neatly and
properly dissipated. All my containers, all my secreted drums, had lost their
poisonous content and power.
Today, I often go and visit my field where I once had buried my
hazardous drums. The grass is green and vibrant, the flowers flourish
and are strikingly colorful. The crystal clear brook has some of the best
tasting water for miles around. It is remarkably clean and refreshing.
As I sit in the middle of my beautiful field, a free man, a small
smile can be seen across my face, a small smile can be seen across my
soul.
Hazardous Material© COPYRIGHT 2005 Christopher Girard.
Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author.
10/20/05
