She Knows

She sits in her bedroom and looks out the window, idly passing the time. She knows of the responsibilities that wait for her, whispering her name up the stairs, down the hall, through her door. She knows, and yet she moves not.

She rests in the rolling chair on the grey carpet and watches the wind blow the tasseled edges of the pool cover around and around and around. Though mildly sorrowing to see the pool covered in that dark green tarp, it is not too terrible. She knows it means that winter is coming, and she welcomes the change, the passing of days, months, years. She knows, and yet she moves not.

She rests her head in her hand and turns toward the bookshelf beside her desk, eyes rapidly skimming over the titles of all she's read and not read. Each plot stands out to her for maybe even just one reason, and she can recall them all. Her eyes automatically jump to her bedside table, glancing at the pile of borrowed novels she knows she must tackle before their owners get too anxious. She knows, and yet she moves not.

She lifts her free hand, trembling slightly as she goes, to lightly touch the frames of the closest pictures. The photographs of her friends, her family, her team members and classmates meet her gaze, and she knows of their stories, their lives, their hopes and dreams. She knows, and yet she moves not.

She turns toward the door, noticing for the first time in weeks the date on the calendar. October, already. She stares at the red square, the number boldly dashed in printed ink across the box. Another day she has attended school, attended activities, attended to everything she must attend to. Another day she has done what she must and only some of what she wishes. She knows she has more to do today. She knows, and yet she moves not.

Time passes. The sun sets. The air grows colder in the darkness, and the clock ticks on and on. She knows that she is running out of opportunity to finish what she needs to finish, to complete the daily tasks she finds so odious, and yet so satisfying. She knows.

And she moves.

When she moves, it is not a graceful movement. She stumbles, perhaps, or maybe even falls. But she marches on. As she walks, her posture grows taller and taller, determination brewing beneath the surface of her casual facade. And she marches on. Her confidence builds, becoming nearly tangible as she descends the staircase to finish what she's started so far today.

She marches on.

The drummer is off-beat, but she can keep her own rhythm. The harmony is off-key, but at least the melody is not alone. The music itself is awkward, and strange, but she prefers it to the silence.

It is everything, and nothing, here and now simultaneously. She is all and nothing, human in every sense of the word. She knows what she wants. She knows what she needs. She knows exactly what she will do and how she'll accomplish it. She knows what adversaries lie in her future. She knows how to defeat them.

She knows, and she marches on.