Second Sweater

            My violent heart shakes the way these walls shake. If it’s time to move on, why does it feel like my life’s unraveling? Why do I pull at the threads of everything I know and love, only to watch them slip away before me? This heat is unbearable, but the rain is even more so. The woman in front of me sighs and fans herself with her program. We’re all here now and we can’t leave. Truthfully, we could never really leave. Behind closed eyelids are a million more universes, like and unlike this one. There is nowhere where it is just quiet and dark, and that might be the problem. I cough into my hands as the line in front of me continues to move.

Conversation in Threes

            It was 8 PM and the banging noise still hadn’t stopped. Katie was starting to hear it like a pounding on the inside of her skull. She wanted to smack her forehead against the kitchen table over and over, anything to make the noise stop. Instead, she walked to the wall and began hitting it with her right hand.

            “Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Quiet! Stop! Can’t you take a break?”

            She wasn’t expecting an answer and she didn’t get one. Katie sat back down at the table and felt the anger course through her. She wanted to stop it, wanted to be a women like her mother, filled with endless patience and decency. But Katie wasn’t that person, and she didn’t know how to explain the anxiety she felt building inside her.

            “What are you doing?” Derrick said from the fridge. “Just ignore it.”

            “I can’t,” Katie said. “I don’t know why, I just can’t.”

            “Well you pounding on the walls doesn’t make it any better.”

            “Yeah,” Katie said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I thought it would, but now my hand just hurts.”

            Even though he was technically standing in the kitchen and she was at the table, Katie and Derrick were only separated by a few feet. When they had first moved in, Katie had hated the tiny amount of living space. She had glanced around and deemed it unfit for the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. After a few weeks had passed, however, Katie felt this space grow into her. Every edge of it was right for her, and she didn’t know why. It seemed that their apartment contained her in a way that no other home ever had. It was hers, and that was all that mattered. Or, well, it was theirs. But today Katie resented the apartment’s thin walls and the fact that she couldn’t get away from them.

            She dropped her pen onto the page in front of her and sighed.

            “It’s not that big of a deal, sweetie,” Derrick said. “Just take a deep breath and try not to think about it.”

            “I hate when you say things like that to me,” Katie said. “I’m not being irrational.”

            “I didn’t say you were.”

            “It was implied by your tone.”

            “Okay, then I’m sorry.”

            Katie rolled her eyes and glanced back down at the chemistry textbook in front of her. “No, don’t be sorry.”

            She looked at Derrick’s face and found him confused.

            “I just mean, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Katie continued, “so you don’t have to be sorry. I’m just annoyed.”

            He shrugged. “The sound will stop eventually. Or do you want me to march over there and demand that they keep it down?”

            Katie laughed and shook her head. “No, don’t! That would be too embarrassing. Of course, if this continues past 11 o’clock I’m calling the police.”

            Derrick sat down at the other side of the table. “Don’t say that, babe.”

            Katie examined his face, all hard lines and easy confidence and said, “Why not? They deserve it at this point.”

            “You don’t know that. What if there’s something important going on over there?”
            “What could possibly be so important that they have to bang on the walls for two hours and disturb the whole complex?”

            “I don’t know, but something. Maybe it’s a couple who are finally having the argument they need to save their marriage, and he’s so worked up that he keeps hitting the wall?”

            Katie raised her eyebrows. “In that case, I better call the police sooner rather than later.”

            “Seriously, Katie, listen to what I’m saying. You don’t know what’s going on over there. Sometimes people need to make noise. We’re animals, after all.”

            “Whatever,” Katie said. “I need to focus on this.” She gestured down at her textbook.

            “Okay,” Derrick said, “but I’m telling you, it could be anything. Try not to let it get to you.”
            Katie smiled and shook her head. She looked down and continued reading.

            Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound continued.

            Isaac found himself wondering whether the neighbors could hear it, but decided if they did, they would probably let him know. In any case, he paid for this apartment, didn’t he? He had the right to do whatever he wanted within these walls as long as it didn’t cause bodily harm to himself or others.

            He pitched the basketball as hard as he could at the floor in front of the living room wall. It hit hard and ricocheted off the wall, then the table pressed against it. Brian ran to his right and caught it.

            “How long have we been doing this?” Brian said.

            Isaac shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Two hours, maybe. Why? Do you have something better to do?”
            Brian laughed and threw the ball back at the wall. This time it barely missed the lamp on the table to Isaac’s right. “Close one,” Isaac said, immediately pitching the ball back.

            Brian caught it and glanced at the clock. “Wait, dude, don’t you have somewhere to be?” he said.

            Isaac looked at the floor and ran his fingers through his hair. “I dunno,” he said. “Not really.”

            “No, you do,” Brian said. “You have that date with that girl. You told me about it. I thought you were into her. What was her name? Isabelle?”

            Isaac tapped his foot and said, “Yeah.”

            “You’re not gonna go?” Brian said.

            Isaac glanced at Brian and shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

            “We’ll see what?”

            “We’ll see if we’re done with this game before she gives up and leaves.”

            “Come on, bro, that’s stupid.”

            Isaac’s stomach twisted. Brian was right, it was stupid. All the thoughts in his brain collided with one another and told him how stupid it was. His body, however, was paralyzed with a special kind of fear. Three years ago, he never would have done this. He would never have willingly stood up someone he had promised to meet. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t the way he had been raised.

            And yet, he was different now. He had learned that you could be everything for someone, every single thing, and it wouldn’t be enough. They would be capable of ripping out your still-beating heart, smiling, and showing it to you, and they would do it. So while the logical part of his brain told him to stop being such an ass, stop wasting time and make it to the restaurant while he still could, the other parts told him, fuck that bitch. He could do whatever he wanted. He reached for his beer and poured the cool liquid down his throat.

            Brian was staring at him with a weird expression on his face. His jaw was pronounced and his brow was extra furrowed. “Well?” he said.

            Isaac pulled the bottle from his mouth and said, “I don’t know what answer you’re looking for, dude. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

            Brian stood there a second. Then he threw the ball as hard as he could at the wall so that it bounced straight at Isaac. Isaac tried to catch it with the one hand that wasn’t holding his beer, but it glanced off his fingers and flew to his right. He watched in slow-motion as it headed towards the window. He could feel the smashing sound in his bones before he heard it. Glass went everywhere. It continued to split apart into new shards as it fell to the floor. In that moment, Isaac didn’t care about the mess. He just wanted the mistake to be over.

            Brian put his hands on his head in an expression of cartoon horror. “I’m sorry, man!” he said. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.”

            “It’s all right,” Isaac said, setting his beer on the counter behind him. “Get the broom.” As Brian ran to the closet next to the bathroom, Isaac tried to steady his shaking fingers.

            The glass shards glinted on the balcony outside their apartment.

            “What the hell?” Laura said as she stepped on them. She shifted the bag of groceries onto her hip and tried to avoid this new obstacle. She felt the glass lodge into her shoe and briefly closed her eyes. This wasn’t what she needed, not after the day she’d had. Laura opened her eyes again and picked her way around the rest of the glass. When she finally got to the door at the far end of the landing, she shuffled her shoes on the welcome mat. Hoping this would mean she didn’t track glass into the apartment, Laura balanced the bag against her body and tried to reach for her keys. She could feel the paper shift downwards, but pulled out the key ring just in time to catch an orange with her free hand. Somehow managing to keep it all off the ground, Laura jammed her house key into the lock and turned the doorknob.

            She pushed the door open with her body and hobbled in, setting the bag on the ground. Laura sighed in relief and rubbed her right shoulder. At least she was home now. She felt the familiar arms wrap around her legs and tried to force a smile onto her face.

            “Mama!” the tiny voice said.

            “My love!” she said. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed?”

            “I waited for you!” the little boy said.

            “You did!” Laura turned and bent down to pick him up. Each time she felt him in her arms, Laura thought Ethan was a little bigger. She remembered the way her boss had screamed at her that day, the way he had made her feel two inches tall and worthless, and Laura wanted to fall apart. She wanted to cry and say it wasn’t fair that she had to do this, had to go out every day for money when she wanted to be home with her son. But she knew the choices and she knew what she had signed up for. “Where’s your other mama?” Laura said.

            Ethan pointed to the hallway leading off the small kitchen and Laura saw Harriet standing there. She had a sheepish grin on her face that told Laura not to be angry about Ethan’s missed bedtime. Laura shook her head, but then felt her son’s tiny heart beating against hers and was unable to be upset. She hugged him harder. She wanted to remember him like this, always.

            “Well, it’s time for you to brush your teeth, little man,” Laura said. She set him back on the ground, then watched as he grabbed her legs again.

            “No!” he said, and squeezed her. “I want to see you.”

            “Mama will help us read your story tonight! Won’t you, mama?” Harriet said. Ethan glanced between them. “But you have to be quick! Your mamas are real tired.” Ethan’s face became focused and he scurried off to the bathroom.

            “What are you doing?” Laura said, unloading the temporarily forgotten groceries. “I’m dead on my feet.”

            Harriet crossed the room and touched Laura’s face. “It’ll be good for you,” she said. “Seriously, it will. Besides, I miss you all day when you’re gone.”

            Laura felt the tension melt from her body as Harriet pulled her into an embrace.

            The tap of a pen against a textbook, the banging sound of a basketball against a wall, the crunch of fresh glass underfoot; these are the sounds of the world speaking with itself. It goes on and folds under its layers, only to reemerge whole and more broken. There are whispers that float through night, only to disappear without really being heard. They must be important, but it is difficult to say why. They disintegrate between the tips of two fingers and are nothing before anyone realizes they were there. 

Graduation

            Daughter, you that stands with her hip bones pressed against that cruel railing. Don’t climb over; this isn’t your time. But look down anyway. It’s important that you understand what we are clutching to our chest. You will remember this moment forever, feel that splitting feeling you feel when you walk away, but it will be with painful relief. There is nothing I can tell you now to convince you it will be better, but it will be. Even when you feel crushed under the weight of too many medications, when you hold glass soaked in the blood of your loved ones, and when you cannot bring yourself to forget the way your hair smelled the morning after, you will be grateful for the air in your lungs. We have what we have until we don’t have it anymore, so don’t give it away so soon. There will be a day when the future doesn’t feel like days of endless nothing; when instead it stretches before you like the land you were always promised. So go ahead, my love, walk back out into the light.

If

            There is no reality but this one; it’s fun to pretend anyway. The rules are the same everywhere and the only thing that matters are the decisions you made. Everyone else remains the same. You can’t change the minds of people who aren’t you, not even if you love them so much you fall asleep imagining their arms and the curve of their spine. It’s hard enough to change your own mind.

            You can whisper the details of those other worlds right before you close your eyes at night. Say them again and again, invoke another reality with this simple incantation. You know what these places look like, can feel the hot breath on the back of your neck, the thrill of bravery flutter through your heart. The imagining is easy. The loss that follows is hard.

            There’s another place where I didn’t let the words drop from my mouth. I traced the edge of that stone table and kept it all inside. The memories danced through my brain and joined hands, but they never met anybody new. They never carved rivers into that skull I worshipped. Instead, I am who I need to be. I pull people in and love them until they forget who they are. Every day I wake up knowing I am doing right. That I am functioning out of selflessness and justice.

            And it is a lie, but it doesn’t matter. My life is all-consumed by those delicate fingers and the twitch of his mouth. I follow him across continents and into arid lands. My life isn’t my own, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, I swear it doesn’t . . .

            Until I wake up one day, look at the thin comforter spread over our bed and realize it really does matter. That I can’t recognize the sentences prepared in my lungs. There was never an opportunity for betrayal because there has never been anything real. It isn’t love until somebody can see you for all the brokenness that you are and still want to be near you. So it isn’t love.

            Why is it so easy to slip into this world? To say everything would have been fine if I had just leaned a little farther in? That maybe my throat wouldn’t be so constricted, maybe this aching fear wouldn’t drip down the back of my neck, maybe I could still draw people into my life and welcome them home, never knowing what it meant when they left.

There’s somewhere else where all of these sheep evaporate before my eyes. They don’t exist for me, and it doesn’t matter because it is better not to have known them. The air is cold, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. It hasn’t for a long time. I know the shape of the snowflakes that nestle in my hair; we have become intimate friends after all these years and I see them even when I close my eyes. I know them as I know the blonde spiral curls, the pale curving cheeks, and the dusty long lashes. Even though I was born in a heat so cruel it melted tarmac, these things were burrowed in me before I first tasted air.

            The fear has become a shaggy doglike monster in the corner of my mind; it scuttles back and forth occasionally, but it is no longer cause for alarm. I figured out how to reach into my own chest and get my heart to pump again, how to scream until I recognize my voice, how to focus my eyes and make them stay focused. I am still volatile and angry, but the hand on my wrist has become somewhere I escape.

            There are three places where I no longer exist, but it is impossible to think about them.

            There is a world where everything I could ever want is laid at my feet. I sit on a throne of bourbon and salt water taffy and laugh as the planet continues turning. People quiver when they say my name; they faint when I say theirs. We were not born to live in the same city, and yet we do. The daughters of the less fortunate resent me, they wish me dead when they rake me with their eyes. It doesn’t matter. None of it really matters.

            The path beneath my feet is made of solid gold and shines only for me. The accent I was never meant to have slips off my tongue and wraps around my ankles. When I look into the eyes of my loved ones, we don’t really see each other. We don’t quite inhabit these bodies we were given. We reach for each other with tired hands, but our skin is made of paper. This isn’t something that matters, though. All that matters are the diamonds that line my arms and the steel that runs down my spine.

            There’s another world where my body was never broken. My hip doesn’t click when I walk and there isn’t a dull ache in my back. I’ve never known what it feels like for all the energy to drain from my body, for the sweat to drip from my temples down the back of my neck to my lower back. Instead, I am angry and unmovable. All I know is how to rail at a world that did not shape itself for me. Humans were made for flight, but I don’t know this. I don’t know what it feels like to be weightless. I don’t know that every atom of me should miss this every day for the rest of my life.

            I don’t know what ice smells like at 7 AM. I don’t know the satisfying crunch that comes when a blade digs in after the first rain. My brain is empty of these experiences, and it is wanting. It has boundless energy and passion and nowhere to put it. It steals secrets from everybody else before turning on itself and atrophying. It is alive, but it doesn’t know it.

            There are no worlds where I am still lying in your bed, where my hair and lips and skin smell like you.

            The final place is the hardest to talk about. Its smoky fingers weave their way through my life and try to drown me. In this place, I wander like a zombie. There is no help coming for me, no Lexapro slipping through my veins to keep me calm. There is only the pressure pushing up against my temples. There is only that faint ringing sound; it won’t leave me alone. My parents try to reach me wherever I am, but my eyes stare blankly. I can’t eat, I can barely stand up. Life continues to pass and weeks go by before I look up and realize I haven’t once left the apartment.

            Lying at the bottom of this well is painful and familiar. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to climb up and let myself out either. I’ve done that too many times. I know what the world outside looks like, and I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. The girl that sits in my lungs screams to get out, but I push her down. Soon she will be a memory, the person people talk about when they talk about me. The goal is to be hidden by the end of the year. To be so far buried under my downy quilt that I lose myself.

            And all the while ghosts dance around my room and sing that this is the end. It has to be. There has never been and there will never be anything but this. My path here was fated. Raise your hand and say goodbye because soon you won’t be strong enough to lift it.

            These places do not exist; or if they exist, they exist somewhere far from here. As far as the edge of the universe or the back of my brain. It is useful to think about them sometimes, to fall into them and live there a while. But they do not have a hold on me. They do not form the buildings and the mountains of my world.

            I know exactly where I am when the sun beats down on my shoulders. When my skin starts to turn red from the angry, cancerous rays I know that I have come home. In these moments, the decisions that made me harsh and difficult must have been worth it. They scream through my brain and keep me up at night, but how could I give them away? There are no realities but this one. And for now, this one is all right.

The New Discipleship

            You bastard. You snake dressed as a lion. If I didn’t get stuck on you every time I saw you I would rip the chair out from under your body. I would smash my water glass into your face. I want to break everything that you ever loved and ask you why. Why why why. Why would you take my words and twist them until they were unrecognizable? I’ve been waiting for two years, and still I look for a response.

            So I sew your mouth shut with scissor blades and barbed wire. If I don’t get to talk, then you don’t get to talk; that’s the deal. I watch with pleasure as your life drains from the bottom. you become a shell of the man you once were and I bite my nails as I watch it happen. I’m not happy to see this transition, but I can’t imagine anything else. Twelve angry shadows dance in my head.

            And still your poison snakes its way into my ears and into my bed. I’m struck down because I think of you. I can’t move. The day I get to leave you behind will be the day I finally grow up. I pour whiskey down my throat and all I wish for is to grow up. I want to leave your eyes behind, your fingers and your smile. I never want to think of you again. I taste the blood that runs down my throat before I realize I’m going to drown.

These Old Bones

            She felt it in her knees and hips before she woke up. It was always there, that dull aching that meant she was still alive, still able to get up and keep moving. Mona stretched out her legs and tried to make it go away. It receded for a brief moment, then returned more insistently. She had been still for too long. Mona opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. 6:27 AM. She sighed and stretched her hip.

            She spent a familiar few minutes trying to get her body to feel normal. It was this nagging ache that made her crazy. Mona thought she could handle it if it happened all at once, if she was flooded by a wave of dizzying agony for a day and then was free of it. But this ongoing irritation at the back of her mind made her someone else.

            There was no use in denying it any longer: she was awake. Mona sat up and tried to stretch her lower back. This only made the pain in her hip worse, so she stopped and reached for the corner of her bedside table. After she had time to catch her breath, Mona leaned against it and pushed herself out of bed. The lamp’s cord swayed under the pressure and the back of the bedside table it hit the wall.

            The first few steps were always the hardest. The pain that shot through the middles of her knees and torso made her want to vomit, but it gradually lessened until it was only a fire in her joints. Mona sighed in relief. She ran a shaky hand over her forehead and smoothed out her eyebrows. Then she walked to her bathroom and flicked on the light.

            Mona winced as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. She stared at the grumpy creature in the mirror, eyeing her jealously. Then she heard a noise come from her bed so she walked back.

            “What time is it?” Aaron said. His arms were twisted around his face to block the light. “Is it time to get up?”

            “No,” she said, “I’m just up. Don’t worry about it.”
            “Okay,” he said, his body relaxing again. She walked back to the bathroom and closed the door. This time her reflection’s expression was more relaxed, like someone had come and smoothed out its edges. Mona moved her face until it was almost touching the glass.

            She wondered how many years were left in her. She wondered if there would be a time when she didn’t wake up in pain. She combed out a strand of her hair and held it between her fingers. But no, it was still there. Still chocolatey brown and straight as straight can get. It didn’t match the way she felt, but there it was.

            Mona could already see the bags forming under her eyes. She touched them with cool fingers. Then she took a deep breath and formed her mouth into a line. This wasn’t where she thought she would be, either. In all her dreams of athletic prowess and record-breaking glory, Mona never thought she’d be angry at her reflection before the sun had come up. She never thought she would be walking like an old woman who had spent too many years chasing unruly children by the time she was twenty-four. But these things were true, and here she was.

~

            Her mood improved once Mona had caffeine flowing through her veins. She then spent forty minutes straightening her hair, taking advantage of the extra time the pain had provided her. She burned her hands twice and in the end she only looked like a slightly more put out version of herself. By the time she made it back into the kitchen, Aaron had gotten up, too.

            “Morning,” he said. “You look nice.”

            She shrugged, then realized he was being sweet. “Thanks,” she said. “I . . . tried.”

            He nodded. “Why were you up so early?”
            She shrugged again and shook her head. “My hip’s been bothering me. And my knees.”

            “I’m sorry, babe.”

            “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. “I just needed to move around, you know?”

            He nodded and started making breakfast. Mona thought he was on to other topics, but she caught him looking her over. “What?” she said.

            “Do you think it’d be good for you to go back to physical therapy?” he said.

            Pain shot through her hip. “I don’t want to do that,” she said. “It’s too expensive.”

            His face seemed set against this reaction. “It is expensive,” he said, “but you should be able to sleep through the night.”

            She shrugged and walked to the cabinet to get a mug and avoid meeting his concerned eyes. “Yeah, I should,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve been so hard on my body. People aren’t meant to hit the ground that often.”

            He suppressed a sigh. Mona could feel his frustration build and she wanted to reach out and touch his shoulders. She also wanted to grab the frying pan out of his hand and dump the contents onto the floor. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said, “but you did. It happened. There’s no point in beating yourself up about it now.”
            “Yeah,” she said, “you’re right.”

            “But if you’re still in pain, we should do something about it.”

            “I’ve done everything I can about it.”

            They painted the familiar expressions on their faces. His said: I’m only trying to help you. I think there’s more you can do. Hers said: I get it, but I don’t want to hear about it anymore. He looked down and focused on cooking the eggs in front of him.

            Mona felt sorry she didn’t have a better response for Aaron. Her stomach twisted. “Anyway,” she said, “I should get going.” She grabbed her bag from where it sat on the kitchen table. “I’ll see you tonight?”

            He nodded, his mouth set in a line. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The warmth of his skin comforted her, and she wanted to fall into it. Mona hesitated a few moments and leaned into his back. She felt Aaron start to relax. She pushed her forehead into his shoulder. Then she turned and walked to the front door.

~

            By lunchtime, the only thing that was still hurting was her hip. She could feel it click when she walked, but she knew the only thing that would help was a hot bath. Mona didn’t have time for a bath, so she popped a few Advil and settled into the short journey to the café on the corner.

            Her phone started to buzz in her bag and she scrambled for it. As soon as she found it, however, she wanted to throw it across the street and watch it smash into pieces. It was her mother. She slid her finger across the answer button.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi, honey,” the syrupy voice at the end of the line said, “is this a good time?”

            “Not really,” Mona said. “I only have a few minutes to grab lunch and get back.”

            “Then I’ll be quick,” her mother said. Mona rolled her eyes. “You never have time for me.”

            “I barely have time for myself,” Mona said. “I’m always working, and when I’m not working I’m at home, so tired I can barely stand.”

            “Still, you can make time to call your mother.”

            Mona sighed. “You’re right, mom.”

            “Anyway, did I tell you about who I saw on Monday? June’s mother. You remember June from middle school, don’t you?”

            “Yes, mom.”

            “Well, her mother was always a stuck-up old bitch, but guess what?”
            “What, mom?”

            “You would not believe how much weight she’s gained. I barely recognized her, but then I could pick out that sour expression from a mile away.”

            “That’s not nice, mom.”

            “What? It’s true!”

            “Even if it’s true, it’s not a good thing to say. Karma catches up with you. What if someone called you a stuck-up old bitch?”

            “Well, let them! Let them talk! I don’t care.”

            Mona rolled her eyes again. “Okay, mom.”

            “She really has become a bitter old heifer, though,” her mother said.

            Mona crossed the street with the phone pressed to her ear. She stepped the wrong way onto the curb and felt the mistake as a painful twinge in her hip. “Is this really what you called me to talk about?” she said, unable to cut the edge out of her voice.

            “What? Do I need to call you with a prepared list of topics now? Mona’s too grown up and busy to listen to her poor mother talk about her life?”
            “No, mom, of course not.”

            “Well that’s what it sounds like. Jeez, I was just trying to chat with my daughter.”

            “You don’t chat with me, you chat at me,” Mona said under her breath.

            “What was that?”

            Mona thought about making something else up. Then she didn’t. “You don’t chat with me, you chat at me,” she said, firmly this time.

            “Why would you say something like to me? That’s so mean. Well, you certainly are in a mood today.”

            “That’s because I’m in pain, mom.”

            “Pain? What pain?”

            “My knees and hips are bothering me again.”

            “I’m sorry, dear, I really am, but I don’t see that as an excuse to talk to me the way you are.”

            Mona paused, and enjoyed the silence that briefly existed between them. Then she said, “Do you wake up every morning because you can’t sleep through the pain anymore?”

            “Of course not.”

            “I wonder what that must be like,” Mona said. She reached the café so she took a seat on the curb outside its entrance. “I can’t remember the last time I was completely out of pain.”

            “Well, honey, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what that has to do with this conversation.”

            Mona bit the insides of her mouth. “It’s hard to think clearly when you’re in pain,” she said. “It’s hard to control your temper.”

            “So, what? You’re just going to go through the rest of your life as an angry person?” her mother said.

            “Maybe I will,” Mona said. “I don’t know yet.”

            “Well that’s no outlook to have.”

            “I’ll have whatever outlook I want.”

            She heard her mother sigh. “I know you will, honey. You’re just like your father.”

            Mona glanced back at the café. “Look, mom, I really have to go.”

            “Of course, just get rid of me as soon as you can. I hope you look back at this conversation later and feel good about it.”

            It was Mona’s turn to sigh, although it slipped out as a sort of growl. “Please, I just want to go.”

            “You know, you really shouldn’t be taking your pain out on other people this way. It’s not their fault you’re in pain. You injured yourself.”

            Mona gritted her teeth. Then she said, “I know it’s not their fault I’m in pain. I know it’s mostly my fault, but it’s also your fault.”

            “What the hell do you mean by that?” The sharp edge slipped onto her mother’s voice so easily that Mona knew she had prepared for this. “How is it in any way my fault?”
            Mona didn’t take the bait. Her voice stayed low. “Who pushed me to try harder? Jump higher? Who took me to practice and drove me home and watched me cry and screamed at me when I said I wanted to stop?”

Mona could almost hear her mother roll her eyes. “Oh please, that’s such an exaggeration.”

Mona ignored this and continued. “I did things to myself, I know that. But I was also super young. Where was the adult in my life? Wasn’t it your job to make sure I wasn’t hurting myself? Where was my protector?”

            Mona’s voice was starting to break. Her mother still wasn’t hearing her. “I did the best I could. I couldn’t control you. You signed up for it every time you put on your skates.”

            “I didn’t sign up to be in pain for the rest of my life!” Mona screamed. “I’d give it all back if I could!”
            Silence. Then, “You’re clearly too emotionally flooded right now to talk about this. Call me back later when you’re feeling better.” Pause. “Love you.” Mona heard the phone click as her mother hung up. She let her hand fall to the ground next to her. Then she stood up.

            Mona’s hip still hurt and she knew her knees would be dead in a few hours. Still, the end of the phone call had provided her with some kind of emotional release. She felt like she could say anything, like she should look people in the eyes as she passed them in the street and tell them exactly how she felt about them. She felt like she should go to Aaron’s work and enumerate all the issues she had with him, followed by all the reasons she had stayed. Her voice had found its way out of her mouth and she wanted to keep it coming. She wanted to tell them all that she changed her mind, it hadn’t been worth it. That the only thing that hurt worse than her damaged joints was the lonely feeling that came from abandonment.

            But even as she imagined saying these things, Mona knew they didn’t have a place in her world. She didn’t want to break down all her relationships for a moment’s vindication. She would eat and then call her mother back and apologize. She knew she would.

            And yet, there was still a spark of something left. Something that said things could be a little better, that she’d eventually get tired of this charade. Maybe.

            Mona went inside to get her lunch.

The Feast

            Your gangly arms reach for me, but I shrink in disgust. It isn’t really happening, we aren’t really here, but I shrink nonetheless. Your voice grates away at my ears and your eyes, that part of you that was the only part I really loved, are empty and dark.

            And yet, I’m not the person I wanted to be either. These limbs that were once filled with forest fires have trouble making it up the stairs. My greedy mouth reaches for $15 cupcakes and I hear the rough slap of my thighs when I walk. The mornings when I woke up excited to see the rest of the day have long gone. Was I really ever brave enough to walk through the most dangerous parts of town at midnight, arms extended for what I knew would probably just be more cold air?

            And once I’ve decided that no, I wasn’t ever that woman, no, you two, my lovers, were figments of my diseased brain, I feel your ghostly fingers sneak around my waist. There is no giving you up or going back, not anymore. We all sway together as the ravenous wind clips my hair.