It was a new jungle.
One I had never seen before.
Murky and sinisterly inviting.
Calling out to every temptation
awakening new formerly unnoticed desires.
Back then it was us.
Us together,
Us against whatever was in the jungle.
We stand side by side by side
facing the jungle, machetes in hand.
Through the murk and the trees
and the moving creatures in the undergrowth,
there is a bright light at the end.
This light is where we must go.
I lift my machete
It's huge
bright shining metal with a little hook blade
Handle encased in leather,
my name engraved in it.
His machete is smaller
hers is tiny.
It doesn't bother me
We need teamwork to get through this
I will pick up the slack, no problem.
We can do this.
So I take the first cut.
Branches break loose
leaves fall upon my head.
The sound of snapping wood
and rustling leaves is all that can be heard.
I inch forward
Check to see if they're by my side.
He looks tired
she seems blank.
Keep going, I urge.
Just take it cut by cut,
step by step.
We cut and cut
I say we...but -
I check on them often.
In the midst of all this cutting sometimes she's asleep on the ground
other times she's next to me
machete limply in hand
looking but not seeing
asking me where he went.
His machete is on the floor
but he is nowhere in sight.
Don't worry, he'll be back
I say as she lies back down on the ground.
I look back to see how far we've come
I can see where we've started about 30-metres away
my heart drops.
That's what happens when only one person is working.
I shake it off, lift my machete
over my head and keep cutting.
They'll be okay, I say.
Days, weeks, months.
I cut and cut and cut
Apart from rustling leaves and broken bark
There is now yelling, screaming, crying.
Loud enough that it drowns out the sound of my work.
Loud enough that I can't keep it out of my head.
Loud enough that I have to put my now
slightly worn machete down.
Down on the ground.
They go back and forth,
wasting time, energy and the last few drops of my sanity.
Enough!
Stop!
And they do.
Right out of the blue.
They nod at each other
pick up their still brand new machetes
and start cutting
I watch the rate of my work get outstripped by two people working.
Working together.
I sit on the ground.
Sigh.
Take a break.
I stretch my arm
feel the muscles tense
roll my neck, to work out the crick.
My hands are red and calloused.
My machete lies among the broken branches
and the leaves.
Further up ahead, they call out to me.
Asking me to stop moping
and start moving.
See that?
That "they"? That "them"?
When did that happen?
When did it become them and me?
When did I become the weakest link?
I crawl to my feet
The exhaustion near crippling me.
I can't life the machete any more
it's just too heavy.
I leave it behind me,
imploring them to wait, to help.
No, they say.
You must help yourself.
I lift my machete,
trying to get the rhythm going
the momentum flowing.
Look for the strength and determination
that I had at the beginning.
Gone, it's all gone.
I'm on my knees
I don't know how but I am.
They are angry now.
Unfeeling,
unyielding.
I yell, screaming obscenities
cursing them out.
They barely pause,
just keep cutting.
My machete has shrunk.
The curved blade broken off.
The leather handle is in rags,
virtually useless.
The jungle is growing around me.
Mocking my cutting,
erasing my efforts.
The jungle overpowers me.
Menacingly.
They have left me behind.
They left me behind.
Choosing each other,
When I never chose one over the other.
But I can't stay here
I have to move forward.
Machete or otherwise.
I crawl forward
On hands and knees.
Pick a path through the trees.
Try to move along,
though each step forward requires more than I have in me.
But then a miracle.
A hand
then hands, reach out to me.
I grab for them.
One belongs to my best friend.
Another a cousin
and the last my sister.
They dust me off.
Marching me down
a path I've never seen before.
Their voices tell me
I'm stronger than this.
Too strong to quit.
Hugs.
Pats on my back.
My cousin hands me a beer.
They – hear that?
That "they"?
That "they" is different
That "they" is the "they" that truly matters.
That "they" is powerful, moving.
That "they" is love.
They hand me my machete.
It looks just as worn.
No matter,
I can fix it as I go along.
This new jungle seems different.
Full of the things that I want:
happiness
success
love.
They cheer behind me
egging me on.
I am battle worn and bruised.
Face streaked with tears,
hair matted into knots.
But surprise surprise,
what's within is far more important than what's without.
The push comes from behind and inside.
The inside that never admits defeat.
The behind that has always been there for .me
I lift my machete and cut.
Not for anyone else,
but just for me.
