06E050

Title: I bequeath my string theory

In my pocket I have a knotted piece of cotton string that I’m bequeathing. I’ve had it for awhile but it hasn’t always lived in my pocket.

The official string theory says we are all connected; all strung from Adam and Eve’s DNA. A picture of DNA looks like two parallel strands joined by crossbars and twisted like a pair of synchronized ballroom dancers. For centuries DNA waltzed along with an occasional bump and grind that created different progeny all connected by a thin thread.

Like DNA the string in my pocket is made of twisted parallel strands. That’s similar to lives of my interwoven groups of friends. I’m not saying my friends are twisted. They were probably upright people resembling uncooked spaghetti noodles before his or her personal pot boiled over. Untangling my string of strung-out friends may be harder than pushing a wet noodle in a straight line. You can’t push a piece of cotton string either.

Unlike an active person’s candle fired up at both ends my string is not burned. It has led an active life and is just a little frayed at each end. Although it’s essentially straight, it’s been around.

When I think I must remember some special errand I tie the string around my finger. Sometimes it just reminds me not to poke that finger in the air.

Many times my string has been a bookmark. Perhaps my inheritors will consider which book page I slammed shut. It wasn’t a cookbook for everyone knows I hate to cook. I like to eat. I just don’t like cooking raw stuff. I hope they’ll think the string resided in a number of literary tomes and nothing too raw.

By tying a knot at a precise spot I’ve used the string as a measuring device. They’ll wonder what I calculated by using such an oddly located off-center knot.

Not in evidence today but this string, just like DNA, had more bumps and knots. The string has been in my pocket, receptive to my stroking and used like a ‘worry’ stone. I’ve stroked the bumps away, while occupied by clearer thinking or forgiveness or forgetfulness. One of those. I forget which.

Now my string contains one knot which is really what I bequeath to my inheritors.

What moment created this knot? Which undone regret is anchored on these twisted strands? Is the knot a reminder of a good moment or a bump along the rope of life? Why is the knot not centered? Is this off-kilter knot significant of just another crazy moment?

When my inheritors find my string I hope it’s the off-kilter knot that beguiles them. Think not of tossing this knotted string but think of the things that this knot means or not means.

At least wait until you realize why I keep my hands in my pockets.

I can’t remember why my string is around my finger and my fingers are simply too tired to untwist the twisted.

(word count: 495)