29 Mar 2010
a lesson in dramatics
One wash of warm light from across the hall and a cold flash crossed me - diagonal, jagged and violent - piercing as though electric. Something grew solid and steely in my palm. Did I have my hand on the doorknob? The bathroom behind me stretched and then quickly snapped, Galilean studies propelling me towards some indeterminate target but out of there, out of there.
Once away (& after a decent doorslam), I almost laughed at the obviousness of it all. “What a cow!” I stomped across the front lawn. All these dedicated years of my life now reduced to this simpleness! Reaching for the passenger door and slouching in a vain attempt to disappear, it was more than I could bear. The next phase, I knew, was sinking to match this deliquescent manifestation.
If this weren’t real life, if this were analog or even digital, I could run those ruined frames in reverse so I would never have to look at you the way I knew I couldn’t stop my face from doing when you eventually saunter over to smooth this out. I didn’t want to look at you in fear of what I’d see - someone I wouldn’t recognize, someone I hated or worse - someone I still wanted.
I had avoided this exposure for so long. Tonight was nothing short of the reason why. I rubbed my feet together against the dashboard of my car and fumed at my shortsightedness.
The more I thought about it, of course it made sense that some maniacal power would notice its chance and seize me with what soap operas radiate and how high school locker slots were made just the right size for notes explaining hormonal abuse. Babies stop drinking milk, learn to walk, feed themselves and speak and dance, but never forget how to wail in the night.
