tonight you will run away with me. you'll grab your childish luggage set, prepacked in subconscious anticipation. you will have already found what you can't live without, and you'll have already stuffed it into three little rectangular prisms. you've written on your life as three boxes, permanent marker labeled: BOOKS and CLOTHES and EVERYTHING ELSE
you will sit on the curb outside your house, absorbing the chilled and solid concrete. you'll be positive that you left behind four or seven objects you love and need, and you won't care. your mind will be too full of nervous questions, fast and rushed and lost behind your eyes. with your sweatshirt zipped up to your chin, raw-red nose taking in and exhaling vapors of midnight, you'll look left and right every time you hear a sound. you will throw your head up instead of taking your cold fingers out of your warm pockets as it's just as effective in brushing back your hair.
you will pick yourself up by the lungs and let yourself sharply vault back down and hunch over. you'll check the time and for once, you'll be kept waiting. i will be at my house. i'll be scanning my room one last time, heart palpitating hard into my temples. sharper breathing, lurching steps, and finally i'll close the door. i never close the door.
with my backpack and guitars and one too small duffel bag, i will know i left far too many things at my house, not my home. i'll throw it all into the backseat, next to the gargantuan tupperwear box with PART TWO scrawled on the shell cover. i'll breathe for the first time as my back thuds against the cushioned leather seat. my head will be heavier than i ever remembered it, even though it feels saturated in helium. the steering wheel will be hard to grip; my hands made of sweat and apprehension, anxiety and resolve.
i'll have a hard time making it, fidgeting and blinking furiously. stiff necked and dangerous, my body won't relax until i reach your house. the radio will be off and the mirrors won't be adjusted. when i stop, you'll put your three similar suitcases in the back, next to my tupperwear container of books and in between my guitars. you'll collapse into the car wordlessly.
we'll sit there, stalled for a few minutes. dizzy and full of a confidence in the center of our chests, we'll be scared together.
you will turn to me and say something insignificant and profound. you will say something that i'll only be able to match in retrospect, the embodiment of l'esprit d'escalier. you will breathe in and say:
"it took you forever to get here"
and everything will melt away, like it always does. comme d'habitude. as my immediate response, i'll fall from my front, relaxed and placated. mollified and quieted, i'll start the car.
i won't be able to resist smiling when we drive away.
With scuffed shoes and a makeshift pyramid stance, I blocked out the white and deafening sun from your squinting face. Letting your guard down, you dropped your hand to your side. Your wince was liquid as it morphed to a smile, pausing in the undefined middle ground to wet your lips. Standing above you, I couldn't understand why I was the one who felt vulnerable; later I defined my unease as the apprehensive feeling that I was on display. I looked to my left and felt heat soaking its way into my neck and shoulders. I scanned the left side of this moment, searching for an excuse. A distraction. Searching for words, or questions. Finally, after my left eye had enough of squinting to ignore the immediate sun, I turned back to you.
"well, what do you want?"
you chuckled as though I had asked some ridiculous question. The sky was closing in and swirling heavy waves of heat into my back, the waves driving through my back. I pushed down my urge to stare straight at the sun, and instead focused my confused face on yours. Again.
"what do I want right now, or in the long-term, or what? Give me particulars and constants."
I froze, because all I had prepared was that one question. I didn't have a backup plan or a follow-up. My life was that one question and you decimated it. So I pulled my eyes away from yours and looked at the empty space by your right ear. I took a breath and took a shot.
"right now. what would you be doing if you let yourself go? what do you want?"
you avoided my eyes and let your face hang parallel to my feet. Snapping your head up, your shoulders reeled back and had you sitting upright. My head wasn't blocking the sun, you moved out of my protective shadow. So you winced. You shrunk your eyes and curled your lips and tightened your forehead. Your chin jutted towards me and you used your left hand as a visor. The temporary visor lent to a shadow, lent to your relaxed face. I tried to stand taller to block the sun, but it was almost like you wanted the heat against you.
"ill tell you what I need. is that alright?"
I was sweaty palms and a knot in my throat and a hopeful rise in my posture. I was anxiety personified.
I nodded.
"I need to yell my throat hoarse until the splitsecond before I start coughing and hacking. I need a day where I inflict all of the pain, where I rip through layers and crack skulls. I need smooth eyes and calm cheeks. okay? now do you get it?"
and I nodded again. I shifted my weight, right leg to left, and I felt the creaking echo through my hips.
"what the hell are you still standing here for?"
I was so sure that I lost the me with sweating palms and a knot in my throat, but the posture stayed. Breathing shallow enough to let on that I was affected by the selfish sun and by your razor insinuations, I swallowed anxiety personified. I pushed through. I became acceptance and calm subsumption.
"I catch the bus here. I'm just waiting for the forty-three and then I'll be gone"
