| open ended |
[28 Nov 2009|10:15pm] |
So, you were wrong. What now?
Everything was all entirely worked out. There was an order to every frantic, exhausting day. There was a warm bed with a pulse or two at the end. Waking up was almost allright. Walking seemed easier. Breathing, eating and sleeping were all attainable things. Laughter floated up the stairs and footsteps sent me off each night. The pieces scattered all over the tile, although too numerous too count, were numbered.
The storm that knocked your power out in the middle of a calm, grey day, was not predicted. You have no flashlight, no generator, maybe a candle or two? It's quiet now. There is time and space to think about things. You can dwell on every word that tumbled out of my mouth and spilled onto our october hotel sheets. You can inspect my tone and where and when I pause to take a breath, or to kiss you. You can hold me close enough to forget where you end and I begin. This is your chance to hang on every word. This is your chance to panic.
Start walking. Rehearse your lines in the mirror where you give yourself a hard stare before you leave the house. Cover more ground. Get out of this nest before it's limbs become your branches. Blink hard enough to swallow your own tears. This is only natural. Compare bruises and talk about things that you won't begin to care about for another month.
My right headlight is out.
Then someone passes us, a mess of pressed together green and brown fumbling to hide our faces. We're embarrassed. We've failed. We're sorry to upset your ideas about us.
I mumble an apology because I cannot tell you, as I would have 4 days ago, that everything is going to be okay. The rain lets up for a minute and I can hear you thinking about me. I inhale and make myself taller than you had remembered. My shell is stronger than bone and more important than my blood. I become an exoskeleton and the rest of me withers and hides while you sink into your shoulders and rub your regret onto me. I am strong enough; I can cover us both.
The rain that pelts your face is not from the sky. You are in the middle of the worst sleep you've ever had. You should probably get some rest tonight. You should probably get your own umbrella.
What if I've got holes? What are we going to do when we hit the water and find that you don't float? Why couldn't you have predicted this mess?
It's true, at best, a mess. A tangle of vessels, muscle and nerve endings that don't connect to anything but each other. We should have known. I should have known. You should have learned to tread water when you were a small child. I should be an expert at staying away from the floor by now. I should have a key to every exit door.
But then again, the power is out. I can't find my keys in the dark.
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