1 word. I’ve opened the door. Another word. I’ve stepped inside. 6 words. I’ve stumbled forward teetering on the edge. The edge of the rabbit hole. A spiral of lies and deception.
I’m building a wall. A wall of bricks, each brick a false truth. I veer back. I open my mouth. I speak. I’m gone. Down the rabbit hole.
“I can’t be with you…” The words ring in my ears taunting me. They run laps in the maze of my bruised and battered mind. They bounce off the walls and come tumbling down reminding me of what simply being me could cost. Because this is me, even with the mask this is me. “Why?” “Because you’ll get hurt and I can’t stand by and watch that happen.” “I won’t get hurt. I never have before, just a couples cuts and scratches here and there. Nothing too serious. I promise you I won’t get hurt.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You don’t know that for sure, nobody does, you especially. You can’t expect to put yourself in the path of danger and never have it slap you straight in the face.” “But I need you.” “I need you too. You. Not some superhero who I don’t know whether they’ll make it home alive and well.” “I am that superhero. That is me. Do you understand? I am nothing without the mask!” “Well you’ve always been something and someone to me. With or without the mask and if you can’t see that then I don’t think there can be an us anymore.” “But-“ “No buts. I won’t do this and neither will you.”
He’s fiddling with his hair again. That greasy mop of hair he’s been running his fingers through all night. He saw me looking and apologised for his fidgety manner, said it was because of nerves. “No it’s not” I blurt out. Sometimes I forget that dates are typically with strangers and I can’t speak to them how I do a friend. He stares dumbfounded. I croak out an awkward laugh which leaves him no choice but to do the same. Except his is an overcompensating chuckle. The air is thick with uncertainty and my sarcasm probably didn’t help the matter. Especially not when I unleashed it exactly 0 seconds into our first meeting. He said my dress looked nice and jokingly said “what’s the special occasion?”. That’s the most comical thing he’s said all night and we’re on the third course. I misjudged his character and said “Funeral.” Safe to say dark humour also isn’t his forte. He adjusted his tie and chortled not meeting my eyes. He hasn’t done since other than the few times he’s stared intensely as if willing there to be some kind of chemistry or sexual tension. There’s about as much chemistry as an empty conical flask.
Shoving a clutter of tat into that old worn suitcase, I sigh with defeat. Defeat that only I myself am the cause of. Defeat that I cannot seem to avoid. Life was good. Life is good. I belong here yet somehow something always steers me away from the places and people I love. I had finally grown to fit in somewhere like a right shoe being placed with its left. Because this was right. It was so right. Yet within the hour, I would have left. Packed my few belongings into that leather satchel I’ve kept pushed to the back of wardrobe and be gone as if I never was. I thought I would never need that satchel again. Not with how well things seemed to be going.
A house of cards, your exit a gust of wind. A hurried walk, your leaving a ditch in the ground. Stumped and startled. A departure unwelcome.
Angry and confused. Bitter with loss. A shoelace that won’t tie with the fray. A new shoe worn down to nothing.
You would have slipped away in the night. Fallen through the cracks. Make a mistake in direction. Because I would never let you leave. Not if I could help it. Not if I could show you how much I love you.
Dipping and lulling. Feet wrinkled prunes, fins in progress. I forage the waves in the allies of streams. Torn on branches, gills pulsating I sweep the floor, yet again empty of food. I grapple with the smooth surfaces of scales. Scales that most now possess. Adjusting to the flood, the flood that we call home, we evict the fish that owned these waters and bleed the beds of pavement dry. A dry we no longer frequent in these parts or all those parts some have dared to drift out to. Building foundations form a lid across the water. A lid of cracks and gaps and abyss’. Dangling string and makeshift bait between each thwarting line, I collect debris for which I’ll build a home.
