Say the thing

Rip it a part

I am pleased.

So now, I can visit these moments anytime I want. I’ve noticed time makes me more forgiving, and thoughts have a way of softening the rough edges.

I stole a book once, I thought it was heroic and counterculture of me. I wrote in the margins all the stupid little thoughts in my head.

Confessions drip off my fingers and collect in puddles on the ground, disappearing with the heat of the day.

We know better than to meet his gaze. His hands are making tight fists and we know we should leave.

My mother said to hurry

fall in love quickly

Have a baby and then have another

She wrote me a letter and said you won’t know until it’s too late

Please hurry up

I ignored her of course, the way a good daughter always does

Now each month those drops of red blood remind me how Hope leaves us,

Slowly and permanently

Over and over agian I get to practice

Perfect he said while he traced my face with his finger.

Perfect he said while he kissed down my spine.

What’s left.

Take the skin, it will keep you warm.

Take the hair, it will make a soft pillow.

Use my hands to finish building your home.

Take the marrow and make a soup. Nourish yourself, I don’t need it anymore.

Use my words they don’t sound right in my mouth anymore.

Throw the eyes away.

You’d tell me how good I was, how perfect, how beautiful. You’d hold me and quote me and I thought I’d die.

I don’t think you read me anymore. You know me too well.

You look at me and you see all these mistakes. The clumsiness, the mediocrity.

I don’t write for you anymore. I write in the dark. Love letters to myself. Little notes to find my way back to myself.

“You’re going to want to say yes. Say no.” Scribbled on napkins and shoved under couch cushions.

“He’s going to say he loves you and offer you coffee. Ask for tea instead.” Written in marker on the bottom of a coffee can.

I don’t think we get second or third chances but if we do, I’ll do better next time.

“I can’t help but stare at you, you’re so beautiful.” If anyone else had said this to her, it would have felt like a line. But there he was, older with thinning hair, staring at her and on the verge of telling her he loved her.

She shifted in her seat. He hadn’t changed at all.

He talked about the past and she nodded.

“I wish we’d had a baby together.” He says this quietly. The steak tartare halfway finished.

“You would be such a good mom.”

The tartare red and glistening from the egg yoke.

“We would have such beautiful babies.”

The egg yoke running down the side.

She smiles and asks about work.

She wants to throw her water in his face. Stab his hand with a fork. Tell him she never loved him and if she’d gotten pregnant she would have had an abortion. She wants to tell him that the first time they fucked, when he was telling her how much he loved her, she was already thinking about how she could break up with him.

She smiles and nods. Asks him questions that make him think they’re making a connection.

A better question is, “How?”

If they say tomorrow they’re going to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge and they live in Brooklyn. You’ll want to say, “Doesn’t Brooklyn have a bridge?” But don’t.You might want to say, “Well you know the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s not even Golden. It’s red.” But don’t.

Instead ask them if they have any pets or get them to talk about a childhood pet. This is a call for help, they want you to give them a reason. A reason to live. In trauma training, they tell you, every person has a reason to live and when that’s gone, well you know, so is the person. 

Some people like to say, “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” 

Want to distract someone from suicidal thoughts? Tell them to name every object or thing around them. Tell them to recite the alphabet backwards. Tell them to hold a piece of ice and don’t make any decisions until the ice has completely melted, and if you still want to kill yourself, grab another ice cube. 

He put his hand over hers and kissed her forehead. She looked forward and focused on relaxing her face. He gently held her hand while he drove them to dinner. She talked about things that didn’t matter, but with a tone that was pleasant and comforting.

She thought about the second job she was getting and about how exhausted she was from the first job.

She thought about how much sleep she could get if she took a shower at night and had her clothes ironed and ready for work the next day.

She thought about the empty bank account.

She thought about the taxes due in April that felt closer than they should.

She thought about her daily headaches and the way her eyes watered in the morning.

She thought about the baby, the lack of a baby.

And she planned when she’d cry by herself. She’d curl up with her little dog and cry. Then she’d go on with her day. And if he happened to notice she’d say her allergies are terrible this time of year. She’d ask how work was and he would say it was ok even if it wasn’t.

And this is how we live with our wounds, our hopes, disappointments and weariness.