Diaskeue

Diaskeue (di-as-keu’-ee): Graphic peristasis (description of circumstances) intended to arouse the emotions.

I couldn’t get over it. All my life I had struggled to achieve it. I didn’t falter. I didn’t waver. My resolve was firmly embedded in the depths of my emotions and the firmament of my soul. I had sacrificed companionship, family and anything that distracted me. I live in a pup tent behind Walmart. I live off my veterans benefits for PTSD and bi-polar disorder. I had my $349 check mailed to Walmart and cashed it at the service desk. My medication (Lithium) was mailed to Walmart too. I was so grateful to Mel the store manager. I shower, brush my teeth, and shave at the YMCA. It’s all the Village People say it is.

All my life I wanted to be a professional tap dancer. I have an unwavering desire to succeed. I will be 80 on my next birthday, so time is running out. I am still taking lessons and I haven’t improved. My psychologist tells me my insistence on doing something I can’t do is what makes me “mentally different.”

Some days I sit in my pup tent and cry, hugging my worn out tap shoes to my chest, wanting my mommy to assure me that some day I’ll be a success, and hearing my father say in his stern voice: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” “Over and over, father, I have tried, tried again,” I say to the door flaps of my lonely little tent.

6 MONTHS LATER

Now that I am dying of cancer, I have slacked off on practicing. I put on my tap shoes and crawl out of my tent and struggle to stand up. I grab ahold of a dumpster and pull myself up slowly and painfully. I hum “Mr. Bo Jangles.” I let go of the dumpster, take a step, and fall on my face. The asphalt smells like garbage and I feel sick. With great effort, I drag myself back inside my pup tent.

I lay on my back. I look at my tent’s ceiling and try to ignore the pain, but I can’t. My abdomen is burning. The pain is excruciating. I have failed. I close my eyes.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

The Daily Trope is available on Amazon in paperback under the title of The Book of Tropes for $9.95. It is also available in Kindle format for $5.99.