Too Far Away to See

She was waiting for fireworks, not knowing that they'd already happened. She'd kept her eye to the same spot on the horizon, watching. But they were too far away to see, too far away to hear. There was a part of her that knew. Of course, she thought, why would I ever think I could see them from here? How could I? How could I?

She waited until morning. She gripped her blanket tight. And as the sun rose and daylight was a fact she told herself that was the reason. Of course, she thought, I could never see the fireworks by day. It isn't where I am. It's when I am.

How Are You Feeling

When I went it was right when SARS hit. As in, between takeoff and landing SARS became a thing. So suddenly the whole world was scared, disgusted, worried that they would be next. And what would happen when we came back?

Everyone wore a mask. Violently ill, wear a mask. Have a cough, wear a mask. Worried about either or both or anything in between, wear a mask. I got the impression some people wore masks just so they'd fit in. Everyone on their way to surgery.

We couldn't even see our parents when we returned. They whisked us into a debriefing room, took us down to face the reporters. And they poked and they prodded, "How bad is it?" "Were you scared you might catch it?" "Is anyone ill?" "How are you feeling?"

How are you feeling. We told them we felt fine. We told them the truth. How regular it was, how a crowd of white masks coming toward you was nothing to be alarmed about. But I realized, young as I was, that they weren't asking to make people feel better. They were asking to make them feel worse.

So-Called Sun

I remember you telling me that there was more to life than being unhappy all the time. That it was all a matter of perspective. The sun is always shining somewhere, some nonsense like that, all you have to do is find it. And I stand here repulsed, I really do.

What you do not understand is that for a person like me there is no trying. Trying does not enter into it. It is not through any fault of my own, I can choose it no more than I could choose to create this so-called sun you say exists. It is a fact, and one I cannot alter.

Take a drive. Read this book, it helps. You know what your problem is? Let me tell you about my day. Thinking about it that way won't help. Words of encouragement. Patronization disguised as patronage.

I'm not asking the impossible, I'm not asking the world. I'm asking that you use this sun to see things my way. To understand that there is a "my way," that there are a million more ways, that in fact most of the ways of the world are not yours. And that sometimes being unhappy is OK. And that, most of the time, it isn't what I want. Please sit with me. Please listen. Please, listen.

Shirts

Each morning he woke up staring at shirts, and each morning the alarm was set an hour early in case he stared too long. What would he do, who would he see? Would he have seen them before, and how long ago? How much time would be spent indoors, outside, in transit, in a grocery store or coffee shop and in what part of town? Would it rain? Was the risk high enough for an umbrella? Did he need anything extra, did he need an entire bag? Did he have too many shirts? Did he have not nearly enough? And eventually he thought so much about the day ahead he forgot all about the days that came before.

Emptied

Slipped on a patch of ice and down I went, and the garage can came tumbling after. My entire life in a week on the patchy driveway I shared with six other houses. Coffee grounds and pizza boxes, bottles I couldn't be bothered to recycle. Crumpled up bills and soggy paper napkins. I used so many paper napkins and never really knew it until then. All the things I'd thrown away brought up again and iced. I had to touch them, my leftovers, all those forgotten pieces, relive them in my soaked and aching hands and jettison them again. Sore on my ass, khakis stained with cold dirt, I threw a bottlecap into a pothole and wondered if it would ever, ever be fixed.

A Room After the Wedding

All she had to do was find one guy and stay in his room. "You taking me home or what?" It was as simple as that. A guy could never do it but a girl could, she could. And she had to, to save the hundred bucks. And wasn't it more fun that way, flying across the country for a weddin where you might not even have a room to spend the night? She was attractive, cute, smart, fun, a wild dancer. She could find some rented tux, some suit to take her home. Out of her comfort zone and into the fire.

The Quiet Time

After the guests have gone, the cold food's been put away, the last piece of bread, the last bit of salad. After we decide that there's vodka in there, after we decide to throw the rest of it away. After the music replays, the infomercials begin, after I've seen this one already. After today, after a week, after a whole year. The days that sneak up on you that begin again tomorrow. The early mornings and late evenings very much like this one, after the throws have been thrown and the last can wait. After I decide that enough is enough and never again and quickly so soon forget. After you make it home safe.