She was saying all these long scenes and describing where she lost it but failed to tell us truly what she had lost. She was running with her eyes and smiling with her teeth, they were broken and knocked out in places where her ideas used to be. I wasn’t afraid of being near her more afraid of being like her. I could see resemblances in us, in the way she moved and the words she chose to use. It had been a long day and I had been walking for what felt like forever. I had taken to walking recently because it was the only thing that made me feel like I was doing something about things there was nothing to be done about. It was as if the very ground passing beneath my feet marked the passing of time itself. Like I could look and say, “that is behind me and this is now in front of me.” Everything had taken on a liquid quality and the most important and solid things in my life had suddenly begun to slip through my fingers and the tighter I held on the quicker they slipped. Then I was just left with all these fillers and mistakes and they clung to me with steel like talons. It had become easy to hold onto only the things I wanted to let go of. So there she was in front of me articulating all these fears I had kept rolled up in the cuffs of my shirt. I had come to think I dropped them and that she had picked them up, followed me for blocks, and then reread everything back to me. I had grown tired of trying to solve things for her, grown tired of telling her to retrace her steps. I was sure that whatever she had misplaced would find her soon enough again.
Published by Erin Rose Belair
I am multi-genre writer specializing in travel, ad-copy, and nonfiction prose. A recent graduate with my MFA I am spending my new found time rambling around the world, practicing yoga, and searching for the best salad ever. View all posts by Erin Rose Belair