Running…
I was running like the wind…
Running to beat the band without reservation… with no destination. Yet though I had that band beat, it only let me travel so far before its elastic stretched to the max and snapped back in full force, popping me hard in the head.
It was a most peculiar band, possessing a give and take effect: I was to give and it was to take. The music pouring forth from the band’s instruments placed a troubling tune in my head: one melody of anger.
I was running…
Running like the wind…
Running to beat the band…
But the tune of anger playing in my head left me frozen in thought. I was stuck; I couldn’t get out, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.
“I think you need to apologize.” Those were the words I was left with from a former friend, accusing me of an act I was suspect of… one that I was falsely accused of, I might add.
“Apologize for what?” was my sharp response.
“For what you said to her. I believe she was offended.”
“Well, okay, but I can’t think of anything I said that may have been offensive.
So I went: I went and I asked her if I’d said anything offensive, if I’d done anything wrong.
“No,” she solidly stated, reassuring me I’d done nothing meriting an apology.
So I went: I went back to my accuser and told him I’d asked her three times if I’d offended her in any capacity. “She assured me I hadn’t done anything wrong, that there was nothing to apologize for.”
“She was simply avoiding a confrontation. You offended her; she just didn’t want to tell you.”
“Look, man,” the temperature under my collar was rapidly rising. “She said I didn’t do anything wrong, so either she was lying, or you are lying to me. You know what I think? Now I think you owe me an apology.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what? I wanna hear an apology.”
My former friend flippantly shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m sorry.”
It was a long ride home that night, especially since he was driving. One week later, I went to my former friend’s house to pick up a few leftovers of mine and, little did I know, that would be the last I’d see of my accuser for years.
I was utterly pissed from the bull he had shoveled upon me, and I’d taken up running as an outlet to vent. With every sunrise that came my way since that last goodbye, I expected a phone call to pierce through my cell, and I expected him to be on the other end with a real, genuine apology.
It never happened.
I continued to run…
To run like the wind…
I ran to beat the band, but with every passing day, with every step taken, that tune of anger from the apology that never came continued to play: louder and louder until it was piercing through my cranium, igniting my ire all the more. And here I was: running, breathing heavy not only from the physical workout but more so from my irate emotion. My feet continued to hit the pavement but, alas, I realized I was stuck. I was frozen.
“Screw them all,” I thought. “Every last one of them: the former friend who falsely accused me as well as my other former friends who refused to stand up for me and set the record straight.” That record was now scratched and skipping… the needle was stuck… everything was frozen.
“Hey, man, with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”
What was this? A new voice yet old and familiar. Footsteps now jogged alongside me.
“What do you want? What do you mean?” I exclaimed.
“Sure, maybe you’ve had some crap heaped on you recently, but how much crap have you heaped on others before? How many times have others had to forgive you? How many times have I had to forgive you?”
My thoughts could only come up with one word: “Crap!” If I was being honest… “Several… countless times to be exact.”
“Then forgive as I have forgiven you. Don’t condemn, and you won’t be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. How many times are you supposed to forgive someone anyway?”
“Um…” I tried to recall the number he’d told me before. “Seventy-seven times?”
“Exactly. And you know what I meant by that, right?”
My sigh didn’t register within my heavy breathing as I continued to run, though mentally at a standstill. “The number is indefinite.”
“As Fonzie would say, ‘Correctamundo!' I’m gonna leave you to your running and reflection. You may be in the right concerning this argument, but be in the right in the long run. Remember, the measure you use…”
I may have rolled my eyes from under the sweat pouring from my forehead. “…will be measured to me.”
His voice trailed off as his footsteps faded in the distance. “And you reap what you sow.”
“So… so what do I do now?”
The band returned: the stretched out elastic again snapping me in the back of my cranium; the music of anger and ire pulsing through my veins. The blaring noise was excruciating.
I cried out through the frenzied din. “God, forgive me! I forgive my friends!” If honesty was the best policy: “I know I’ve pulled a ton of crap in my life, and I’m sorry. My friends’ transgression against me pales in comparison to my filth.”
Thunder erupted through the din, its booming clap bringing a strange peace with it. The accompanying lightning not only short circuited the band of ire’s instruments… it left each of the musician’s dead in its wake.
I wiped the salty sweat and tears from my eyes while continuing to run…
Now carrying a torch in hand…
A candle of peace aflame for my friends… my former rivals.