The lines sit, seemingly idle between sidewalk panels, floor tiles and adjacent cubicles. They pass through the sights of passersby and disappear from view, constantly present but barely registering in the busy minds of commuters, shoppers and frazzled parents trying to keep up with frustrated toddlers.
The lines create definition. They yield shapes through their intersection, giving life to triangles, parallelograms and dodecahedrons and providing purpose to Pythagoras and Euclid and Mrs. Lambert in seventh grade math.
The lines are dichotomous, simultaneously uniform and opposite. They point out barriers, the ends of the road, the final destinations and signs that read “Do Not Enter.” All the while, they also show us the way forward, leading us to detours over, around and through, lighting the way to the nearest exits or the means to our ends. They separate spouses and connect lovers; they give power to our worst impulses and make us laugh in spite of our sadness.
The lines mark territory, borders and boundaries. They shine in the blistering sun, twisting and crossing over each other to form the chain link fences between backyards and cages. They distinguish between states, countries and governments that, ultimately, are just reduced to areas of grass, river and rock. They note the differences between zoo bears and circus bears, between harmful slaps and loving caresses, between good intentions and hurt feelings.
The lines, straight-edged and black in their significance, extend ad infinitum.
The lines exist without being seen.
And he had crossed one.
