some fall in love. i shatter.

It Doesn’t Come Together Easily (#5)

In Stories Volume 1 on April 2, 2012 at 7:46 am

You cannot shake the sound of ambulance sirens from your ears.

You cannot begin to comprehend what has happened.

You cannot fathom how or why.

You cannot imagine what the future will bring now, now that he…

You cannot say the words.

You cannot say the words because you’re uncertain of what the words are.

You cannot say: ‘has had a stroke,’ ‘is dead,’ ‘is in a coma,’ ‘is gone.’

You cannot say these things because they are each so different and the distance between the differences is vast.

You cannot pick one because these things change so fast.

You cannot say because you are not yet there.

 

You were having drinks with a friend, a colleague.

You were having your second vodka tonic when the phone rang.

You were so insistent that he list you as his emergency contact.

You were so persistent when he stated that anybody he was likely to be around would know the relationship and that he didn’t need extra contacts cluttering his phone.

You were fully justified, you now know, when you entered it in his phone without his knowledge.

You were right on the border between sober and tipsy when the phone rang.

You were sober ten seconds later.

You were unable to explain it all to Kerri; you would have been unable to explain it all to yourself, but you were clearheaded enough to throw a $20 on the bar before leaving.

You were always so reluctant to be in anyone’s debt.

You were unable but to rethink the notion of debt.

 

You are in the waiting room and cannot help but think that this is but the first of many times you’ll be waiting in rooms antiseptic and devoid of outward emotions and quiet and cold and heavy and heavy and heavy and…

You are regretful of having made neither wills nor living wills.

You are the reason for that, always wanting to put it off, saying it would require more time than you or he could put aside that weekend, that there was time, that you were both healthy, all while you were just scared.

You are sorry for so many things, so many little things that you never thought to be sorry for, that never seemed worth being sorry for until suddenly you could no longer apologize.

You are wistful and overwhelmed by memories.

You are afraid of change.

You are waiting for a doctor, a nurse, an orderly, a receptionist, a janitor, anyone, anyone, anyone to come to tell you something.

You are afraid of and expecting the worst, it is your nature.

You are hating yourself and the world around you, hating him and whatever brought this on, hating the life you’ve built together because in this fucked up world, it could only ever fall to pieces, inevitably, certainly, undeniably.

You are embracing yourself and looking away when someone finally does enter the room.

 

You remember when his father died of cancer, his mother of a heart attack, your parents together in the car crash, your first and second dogs of ‘old age.’

You remember the beach in northern Greece in 1986, when he told you that he could swim to that little island and you didn’t believe him and then he did it.

You remember when he surprised you with that trip to San Francisco, when you thought you were going to the airport to pick up that friend of his that you hated, Vance, and then he pulled two tickets from the visor and two suitcases from the trunk.

You remember every Christmas morning.

You remember every anniversary, even though you both agreed to make nothing of anniversaries, and how he would always find a tiny way to make it special for you that every time still managed to count as ‘doing nothing.’

You remember when you decided to have children and then when the pregnancy didn’t take the first time, then the second, then the third, and then you decided to give up and began crying and crying and crying and crying and crying and crying and crying and crying and crying and crying, both you and him, taking turns leaning into each other and being leaned into.

You remember fighting.

You remember the last time you moved and how nervous both of you were yet neither of you would admit it until that night when things were so tense and the plate slipped off the table, smashing into a dozen pieces on the wood floor and in that shattered moment you both began laughing and couldn’t stop for what seemed like an hour and you both finally realized what the other was feeling and could finally vent what you yourself felt.

You remember love, so deep; love, more than anything else, love.

You remember being so close.

 

You wish there was more time.

You wish you could stop listening to sad music but it seems to be the only music that matters anymore.

You wish you could stop crying without provocation.

You wish it would have been you, because he was always the stronger one and he could have handled this all so much better.

You wish you could let him go.

You wish people would stop asking if there was anything you would do differently, because you wouldn’t.

You wish he was still with you, or that you could be with him.

You wish that you weren’t you.

You wish that the irrational was rational.

You wish that wishes came true.

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  1. Brilliant. Great concept and well written. Any written or visual art is to give the viewer an emotional trip. In this you can really feel emotion from the very first line. I’ll be stopping by when I find the time.

  2. I opened my first “blog” to be able to comment at this – thank you for yet another adrenaline rush M! There was a music to this story, the words dancing from one line to the next in fabulous vibrations – I look forward to the next.

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