1986

She’s sitting on the ledge by the window telling us ‘whatever you’re going through, it won’t last.’ Is that supposed to make us feel better? Because right now my body aches from the sound of her voice. But maybe the point isn’t to feel good it’s not always about feeling good. Though I think it depends on where you’re sitting. Metaphorically or otherwise. For me it’s the way her words bounce off the glass windows then back again. They feel sharp against my skin almost like she’s writing them directly onto its surface. Not with a ballpoint pen or anything forgiving. Something sharper more severe. If I keep my eyes closed I can feel the motion ink to skin and isn’t all of this a bit too ominous for a 93 degree Tuesday in August? Summer’s drying up on its own I don’t need another harsh reminder that it’s all going to end.

I keep taking my temperature to see if I can measure the difference between where I was and where I am. Of course it doesn’t work like that but still the effort feels like something. And something’s more than nothing, does that mean we’re getting somewhere? You don’t have to agree but if you could just nod your head and pretend for me this one time. It seemed like you were looking for something to do with your body with your eyes. Anything beats you sitting there alternating between silent stares first me then the window then me again. I can’t take the feeling of your brown eyes begging to leave.

I don’t remember the air being this thick last year but maybe that’s me choosing to forget the parts that don’t feel good anymore. Do you remember the strange old man on the front patio? We drank rose until I had to go. He listened to me tell stories most of them about you. Enough that we both left convinced. Sold on a narrative though I was gone before he could poke holes into anything into everything. I made it to the edge of your building screen to sky reminiscing about 1986 like maybe we had been there. Cans of beer littered by my feet I couldn’t tell if I was buzzed or just happy to be there. We waited for the credits to finish before passing a cigarette back and forth my turn then your turn. Again and again until all we had was ash.