Sintomas

 Monday is my breaking point and Wednesday is his. 

Monday, I yell in a public park and run down the Frisco trail, tears streaming down my face. I tell the entire state of Missouri that I hate it! I hate the cows that moo like nothing is out of the ordinary even though I can’t seem to breathe because there isn’t enough air in all these trees. Are they letting enough CO2 out, or am I just out of oxygen? 

I hear all about the elves, how their magic has got us under their spell. I take a look around and realize they must be hiding in the trees. They can't face me at least. Maybe it's because I'd tell them who they were, maybe I'd look them in the eyes and scare them away from you. I convince you to wait until seven, wait till seven and everything will be fine if we just meet up at lucky number seven. I've never been too good at running or math, algebra or numbers, but today they seem to be in my favor. I think you're lucky, you can't remember these calls, can't remember what you say as I try to keep running the other way. Away from you and as far as I can get in the Missouri heat. Not very far at all.

I truly believed the numbers were in our favor and you show up right on time. We're making pizza, a family movie night. They got to you first though. I try to explain that this is normal, we are normal. I'm usually good at talking but my words don't work and I say the wrong things. He declares that we are, in fact, not normal. All I wanted was a piece of pepperoni pizza with black olives, but his eyes dart back and forth, distrusting tears. I've lost my appetite and I'm so angry. Not at you, but at the world, at the state, at the planet Earth and I pack my things and go. I'm running out of places to go, this town just isn't big enough. On the way home I make a detour, stopping by one of my favorite places. Sometimes it feels like the only place that will stay safe and sacred for me in this tiny town. I'm worried that by the time I'm gone, there won't be any left.

-------

I don’t remember Tuesday but I do remember Wednesday. I have to call in for the first time. She says the dog is dying, aren't we all. I think we take precedent.

In just a day, mom will arrive and she will take care of it, she will fix everything. The car won't burst into flames when the key turns and no one will look at you twice in the park. I'm not as convincing as I think I am. That British baking show is on just to kill time. TV does that if it isn't killing you first. We talk in circles, squares, lines. I talk until it's time to rest, and then you're back. I find things to say, anything that pops into my head. But you read between my lines, even when there isn't anything there to read. I dropped all my beads on the floor this morning, but can they ever go back to their place? To which I say of course they can, they're just beads and I'm just clumsy.

We didn’t make it till night. I'm running out of excuses and explanations. I'm afraid not even the brits could entertain us . They tried their best but sometimes that just isn't enough. You're feeling forgetful when you forget who I am, you forget where we are, you forget if you let the cats out of the apartment. They’re hiding in a box. He laughs, mom calls, and I can’t catch my breath again. 

Someone knocks at the door, she's a real mom, one who can take the spot for a day or two because I have clearly failed. She came to help us out, she even brought a Lil Caesar's pizza. I'm confused but I guess it won't make it worse. I don't want to go with them, I don't want to walk down the stairs and get in the car, I don't want to do a lot of things. We drive around the block for an hour, circling the same streets we grew up on as if these streets needed any more memories.

They tell me to hold on but I let you go, watch you through the glass doors. I'm out of whatever gets me through the day. Carolyn comes to get me, we get McDonald’s and watch some tv with the cats. I call in for the week.

-------

If the circumstances were different this could be a nice reunion. We could go get our hair done with Isabel or even stop at Gailey's to get brunch. I don't get to see my mom as often as I'd like. But she arrives with her to-do list in hand and we get started right away. Better not to argue today.

1. Feed the cats. Yeah, I'm still freaking cat sitting even though I lost these animals a day ago. I'm not good at this.
2. Clean the car. I borrow the vacuum and the oxy clean. This takes several paper towels and two trash bags. We find all sorts of things, ranging from past-due bills to a box of hot coconut water. After separating it, trash or treasure, we are satisfied with our efforts.
3. The apartment. This apartment, the columns, is technically mine. For a minute it was ours, but it's under my name, which is an underlying cause of the stress wrinkle on my forehead. I figured at this point I could say goodbye to the security deposit, it must be long gone. It no longer smelled of kitchen lemon candles and the bathroom had become some sort of darkroom. The living room resembles an art studio, with paint stains leaked onto the carpet. Sometimes, somedays, things just work out and instead of six more months in this place, we get two.

I break in like old times because the keys are trapped behind the glass doors with you and your wallet. There is old art all over the walls, rotting vegetables in the fridge, and the mattress has been moved to the living room. It hurts to see you live like this, it hurts to see this place turned into something it wasn’t. We open the windows, we turn on the air, get something circulating. And we start makeover number two. This will take us several days, but now, I’m on my hand and knees scrubbing the toilet and going through the garbage for answers. Is this what love is? The bathroom is chemical warfare, and I take a breath, moving over to the kitchen. Mom cries over spilled juice but it doesn’t want to come out. It’s sticky, contemporary purple splashed against a white canvas.

I see the food I bought him. I'm not mad, I don’t eat my veggies either. I feel like I'm getting to know you, the part of you that you wouldn’t let me see. I move aside your folded shirts and socks to see if we can find something that explains this change in behavior, in beliefs. I shake out the books, replacing them one by one on the shelf. We overturn the couch cushions, flip the mattress. I even find the mail key. I feel like I’m keeping it together well enough to put things back together. We've been warned to be careful, that we may not like what we find. But I think we're just searching for the truth, even if it hurts. I’m not scared, but I’m done looking for today.

There must be more on the list, update the family and email the principal. But I'm out of air again, I was doing so good too. I walk out of the apartment knowing I can't get very far. I know the farthest I can get is to the parking lot before I realize that I can't leave you behind.