|
|
crosstown train to you
|
|
Robert sat hunched over on the toilet, his eyes unfocused as if trying to peer through the green shag bathmat. There was a knock on the door. "Are you okay, honey?" Robert coughed and stood slowly, his right hand on the windowsill for support. He lifted the lid and flushed the butt of his cigarette as he made his way to the sink. He ran the water and stood silently observing the stranger in the mirror. He leaned forward and opened his bloodshot eyes wide, pulling down the bottom lids one at a time to read the maps of red veins. Christ, I look like shit. He sniffed, and cupped his hands under the faucet to splash the cool water on his face. He patted it dry with a floral embroidered hand towel and glanced in the mirror again. He wiped his moustache with the wrist of his sweater to be certain there wasn't any snot in it, and unlocked the door.
I stood there in the shower and placed my hands on my stomach. It's disgusting. I grabbed the roll of fat and shook it. I placed my hands under my overhanging belly and lifted. Wow. That's a lot. A. LOT. I feel horrible. I'm not happy with myself. I don't do anything. I have no energy, my posture is horrible because I try to disguise my shape, and my back is always killing me. I disgust myself. I can't remember the last time I felt good about my body. I want to look good. I want to fit into my clothes again. I went home this weekend and all my pants from school were in the wash. I needed something to wear, and I only had one pair of ripped jeans that fit. I don't want to sit on my ass and hate myself. It's time for a change. I've said it so many times, that we need to get healthy. We need to eat better. We need to work out. I can't even say work out more because the most I ever do is walk to class. But this, this body I'm in, it's revolting. It's time to get serious. I was going to eat some ice cream, before I showered. That was the plan, shower and then have ice cream while studying. I think I'll have a salad.
We exit the house; the supply of firewood is spent. I feel my veins freezing, blood turns to ice. She clings to my leg, looking up to me. Her brown curls flip 'round her in the wind, but my smile is forced. I turn to look behind me, out over the city. It glistens in bright white misery. We begin the hike to the foothills. "Where did everybody go?" Her question is pure, innocent. The truth is not. The snow crunches under our tennis shoes; my toes curl up closer to my soles. With the wetness seeping in, I try to tell her. I begin to chronicle our journey, beginning with her mother-- how she got sick the summer following my precious girl's birth. I feel drops of wetness flow from my eyes, icicles forming in my whiskers. She clenches my fingers, squeezing them tight. Though her grip isn't yet strong enough to open jelly on her own, she knows just how to use it to melt my soul. We stop; I crouch down in the middle of the empty street. I look in her eyes; she looks through me. She smiles. I clutch her close to my chest, where I will hold her until the end of time.
|
|
powered by movable type 2.661 |
