Will you come see me? I wonder. I mean, really see me? I am made up of codes and secrets and contradictions and noise that distracts just enough to keep you from hearing what might be real. I don’t even know. I lost track of her years ago. Someplace and sometime in the early aughts, I fell to the ground and my hands caught the pavement when Val said, “Will you ever not be a klutz?” and I didn’t answer because I was hurt. I will always be one because my head lives somewhere beyond reach. I try to find it because I miss things. So much, so often, that one day regret will bind me. This week, I have stayed indoors with the blinds shut and my face hidden because it is noticeably burnt and swollen. I’m ashamed to tell you that the sight of my face is (normally) a pacifying event for me. Front-facing cameras and mirrors and front-facing cameras and windows and front-facing cameras and side glances, there she is. I lost track of her years ago, but there she is. “The nose keeps growing, you know,” the young woman who stamps hot flames into my skin says. “Also, you might consider filler here and here.” My watery eyes flutter open to observe her filtered face and I think, I’d rather not. This week, I am angry at everything. I swipe at an overgrown palm frond, slam a trash can lid down, kick a push-door open. It can be painful with your apparition and it is painful without it. I am undecided on most things, but for this? I know my preference.
Thoughts?