Obstent / Obstention (uhb·stehnt / uhb·stehnt.shn)

IPA: øbstent / øbstentʃən

I am obstent in this life—a stone tossed into water without ever making waves, or even ripples.

I’ve been spectating this conversation for over an hour, seated on the perimeter like the margins of their page. The obstention grows with each failed attempt to inject myself into the topic.

There is a wager I have with myself, if I rip the rug out from beneath the feet of those who claim to love me, would they even stumble? My bet is no. Eventually they may notice, see the floor and frown at the perfect square of unblemished hardwood beneath them.

I stand, the habitual ‘goodbye’ buried behind my teeth as I turn and walk away. It’s not just them, but they are the final catalyst.

I don’t stop moving. I empty dresser drawers into a duffle bag, box up the things that matter and deposit my life into my car. I barely let up on the pedal as the hours blur.

At some point I feel the shift—determination fuels it.

I start fresh, a new town, a new job, a new me.

I will be the rock that causes a ripple to become a swell, emptying itself on a distant shore. I will no longer feel obstent, I will stitch my name into the tapestry of life until it can no longer ignore me.

I will live.