a letter to you
I remember when you kissed me and the chaos that preceded it. It was drunk, wet, and sloppy and tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. It was a night of laughter and anger bathed in smoke and cheap yellow light. Exasperation. Familiarity. We lifted her off the pavement and helped her to the car. Even then, it was loose laughs and loose words and affectionate goodbyes—goodbyes so heartfelt and genuine as if we would not meet again in the morning.
I remember my insides clawing at me. The things inside trying to kill me, a sickness that had rooted itself so deeply that months had passed by in days. The fear of a failing recovery eclipsed the same pain that scratched at the interior of my skull. Insecurity. Regret. Doubt. I flashed vulnerability at you. I flashed a playfulness and eroticism that I wish I had; that I used to have, in the years before I had surrounded myself with high walls of dirt. A comfort of earth that crumbled at my fingers at any attempt of liberation. The scent of it enveloped me. You drank it.
I remember homemade noodles and blackened garlic. A worried yelp and a steady hand over mine as I held the knife at the wrong angle between oyster shells. A frustration over cards. A frustration over water and buckets. Like my body had deteriorated around me, your house did the same around you. Your mind. Your habits. Your addiction. But there was love; there was a gentle kindness and affection behind every movement and word.
“Hello, you.”
A gentle tug of Savannah’s sweater.
An offering of blankets.
A sleepy greeting and goodbye with glazed eyes.
Those were not so heartfelt. They were tired. They were ringed with darkness and slow, as if the words were stuck on your tongue or lost in your disheveled hair.
They were words said or unsaid that strained friendships.
A forgotten kindness; a forgotten laugh.
I wish I could have told you about my brother, or how I finally conquered that sickness. I wish I could have laughed with you again, eaten noodles, and bathed in smoke and yellow light.
I wish we could still help you to the car.
