shad·ow /ˈSHadō/ noun, a part of me

On my morning run, I race my shadow. From streetlight to streetlight, we speed under patches of orange glow that illuminate The Strand, a narrow strip of road paralleling the Pacific. 

As I accelerate, my shadow appears in my peripheral. My dark stretched-out-self moves from slightly behind me to directly off my shoulder, then swiftly passes me as we transition into the lightless void between lampposts. 

As I run, I wonder what life without my shadow would be like. Who would a shadowless Billy be? Would I be better or worse? The same? 

As we glide along, I imagine him coming to life. In my mind’s eye, I watch as he breaks free from my side and rises from the ground. No longer reliant on me, my shadow pulls up and begins running in the opposite direction; liberated. 

I halt, call out to him, “where are you going?!”

He says nothing, keeps running, distancing himself from me—free at last, free at last. With every step my shadow appears lighter and lighter, until he is no longer visible, weightless. 

The orange glow of streetlights become spotlight; I feel exposed. Without my dark sidekick who do I blame all my shit on? Shadowless, I alone am responsible for past transgressions. His burden becomes mine. Without my shadow’s assistance, him holding me up, I feel the weight of pain pressing me into to the concrete. Heaviness takes hold, effortless gliding turns to sluggish walking. 

With each passing lamppost, I look down, search the ground hoping he’d reappear; I need you. Instead, all I see is road and spattered sand and running shoes attached to limbs that can no longer run. Without shadow I am half of who I was in the light, and a third of myself in the dark, a quarter at best.

Each step delivers a new thought, a memory of the injustices I served. My heart hollows out. My abdomen cinches up. Shoulders elevate towards ears. As mouth dries out, breathing becomes panting. I continue forward, begging my legs to pull me through the denseness of seemingly unforgivable sins. I slosh slowly forward through unresolved guilt.

Why had my shadow run off and left me to deal with these memories alone? 

That guy wasn’t you. I attempt to convince myself; it was your shadow. Deep inside, I know that’s a lie—that guy was me. I know it; my shadow knew it. All this time, all these years, running mile after mile, trying to outrun my past only to discover, in this moment, I am my past. There was no escaping the roles I chose to play. There was no undoing what had been done, if even it was done as self-preservation, for survival. I could keep running, continue refusing to look at it all, but what I was running from wasn’t behind me, it was within. I forgive you, Billy.

Shadow reappears from the light, not because of the light. United, we race home.