The Catcher in the Rye

I know the metaphor has probably been used before. I know that this is all I know how to do. But lately I have grown weary. They just keep running right off the cliff. I trip them.I throw nets. I grab. I tackle. I hit them with rocks. Just to stun them. But still they keep coming. Still they keep jumping.I am only getting older. January is almost over and I just want to lie down in the rye and go to sleep. Take a little nap. I can hear the screaming chatter of their voices fade to murmurs as I drift off.

I stacked a load of firewood this weekend. Four perfect rows. Six feet high. I stacked them 2x2 against a wall in the garage. After I finished I returned time after time to gaze at the perfect organic symmetry. I could do this for a living. Give me 5 dollars an hour. Some beans and rice.

No. I will come to my senses. Get up Monday. Back to the field of rye. Even if I can keep one from falling. Throw him down. Place my foot directly on his neck. Hold him down long enough for him to wake up. There is a cliff over there you idiot. Oh he will say. Thank you. I didn't know.