Oh, but the physicality of my thinking is chaotic. Outside of my apartment someone is walking up the stairs. I sometimes walk up those stairs and stumble. But I wasn’t always like this.
Nonono.
I’m gonna write the letter. I’m sorry for not knowing if I loved you. Because things get confusing and my mind’s fucked up. The tears don’t let me write. If what matters are my actions then I never loved you. But it’s the world—this fucked up world; like a mind-rape.
Right now someone is falling in love with someone that will never love them back. Someone just found out their mother has cancer. Someone is losing a job. Someone is killing a baby they never wanted. Someone is having sex at a bar.…
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Jane was visiting her therapist for what she thought would be the last time. Her health insurance provider had determined that Dr. Goodbody was “out of plan,” and Jane’s visits would not be covered.
Jane settled down on Dr. Goodbody’s sofa and talked for a while, explaining her circumstances; then she invited him out for dinner.
“Jane,” Dr. Goodbody said, “we cannot conduct a therapy session in a restaurant. It’s unprofessional. It’s….it’s….”
“…It’s Thai,” Jane said. “It’s the new Thai restaurant on the corner. We could have Pad Thai. We could have Kanh Ko Mu if they’ll go easy on the garlic. You may be out of plan, but we could still have champagne to celebrate.”
“Celebrate? I may be out of plan,” the Doctor said, glaring at her across his desk, “but perhaps we should discuss the possibility that you are the one who’s out of plan. …
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Randy’s wish
I’ve rented a motor boat for two hours. I’m in a maroon tee and bermuda shorts, waiting for Jane. The twilight is a tint of orange with threads of red rising from the horizon, which may not last long, unlike her presence that placates my soul.
I have known her for sometime, only know that she works for a store, but it’s enough data. Love, they say, is blind.
But I have a point to prove, and have long waited for this moment, like a poor Alaskan waiting for years to get to Florida, away from the sucker cold. Worse, I was treated like a pole a dog would lift its legs to pee on, and using the smell as a mark for other dogs to shame me and my competence.…
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Over the mountains the oil sky was splitting open, the yellow light crawling over the world. I stood sleepless at the end of the dock watching a flock of gulls float over the small swells, their white feathers dissolving in and out of the fog.
The rest of the class drifted down the small hill toward the boat in small groups, bundled in matching blue and white sweatshirts with our school mascot. They huddled into a small circle and I lingered. Across the distance—the impossible new divide between us—I could see their excitement spark at the sight of the boat and take shape in their faces and wrestle them over completely.
Cappy’s blue truck coughed into the parking lot at six and we all gathered up behind the truck’s bed.…
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People make too much of dissociation—it’s a wonderful coping skill. Time honored, really. I’m not a multiple, mind you. It is just that if you need to touch my body, don’t worry; I have some place to go where I can’t be bothered.
Let me pause here, while I undress. I’m going to do this carefully, seductively even, although you’re sitting there on the mattress; all ramped up for something more.
Here is a bit of collarbone. Not as fine as when I was younger but still enough to catch an eye or two. I’m leaving my hair down for now. Later, I’ll pull it back and let you glimpse more of my neck.
So, let’s talk about my cashier job when I was a kid. …
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Green and purple and blue light streamed into the church through the pictures of lambs and Jesus with children sitting on his lap. The congregation consisted of forty-seven Baptists, eleven Nazarenes, twenty-two Mormons, six Jews, one lone Muslim, seventeen who did not attend church but were nevertheless bowed in prayer, and a number of individuals who did not believe in God or define themselves as anything religiously. They were friends and parents and teachers and shop owners and doctors and liars and stealers – but they were all mourners. There was a baby who was crying and a ninety-six year old woman who was crying. They wore black pants with collared white shirts, and flowery skirts with gray blouses, and khakis, and dresses, and jeans, and suits.…
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Under the blankets she shivers like she’s out in the snowstorm, not curled safe in our bed with the lights out. I close the door behind me, but I don’t move to warm her. She’s piled those blankets so high tonight, so high and so heavy. The heat’s turned way up in here. Outside, the snow falls for real, thick sheets of it tumbling from clouds that block the moonlight. A few stars shine through, though. Just enough light to see her by.
“Allie?” The pillow turns her voice to a bare murmur, like the voice she uses when I’m there beside her, our hands and hair twined together, one blanket sheltering us both. Like the voice I spoke with when I started school, mumbling at my shoes, before her kindness opened me up.…
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