Gray

My stomach lifts and pushes up into my chest. Then it swoops down a giant tickle and ends in a pit of numb. Lift, swoop, numb. Up the hills, over the hills, down the hills. My car is moving quickly along this empty rural road. The clouds sway overhead, maybe trying to influence my direction, but I am just driving. Not away, not towards, just driving. It’s a summer evening. The sky is gray. The road is slick from an afternoon rain. The windshield is fogging up in the corners. There is a chill in my body. My heart is gray. I want to know when this length of time will be over. I wonder if I will ever feel a weakness tugging at my knees again, if I will hear my heart beating wildly once more, if I will soon taste the salt of a lover’s skin. I feel lost and sad. Happiness is a glass of beer, or a piece of chocolate, a thing that can be consumed. It is a warm pair of socks at night, an empty house with no one to bother me. Happiness doesn’t happen to me anymore the way it happens for others, it doesn’t come in the shape of a smile or the sharing of a kiss. There isn’t a man to catch my hand in his anymore. There are no strong shoulders. There is no familiar voice telling me it will be okay. Loneliness is a dwelling. Isolation surrounds me and houses me like any jail cell or grave site has ever held anyone. I don’t try to make it go away anymore. I don’t cry because of its presence. I have accepted the embrace of solitude. Love is gone and I am alone.

I roll the car window down and a blast of cool air presses into the side of my face and down the length of my neck. Immediately I begin forcing my thoughts out into the countryside. I imagine thousands of little parcels, each wrapped beautifully, but bloodied and bruised on the inside, soaring out the window and being squashed in the headlights of oncoming traffic. I imagine the gift of love recoiling inside of me, too timid to come forward, afraid that it will be ambushed. I imagine all my affections vanishing as shadows emerge from the thick of the woods and twist the life out of them. I live with fear as my friend and my protector. I am afraid of falling in love because I am powerless in love. Once I have found it, I will do anything for that feeling of height, of flying, of being on top of the world. I am frightened that I will give myself away just to feel that high, so I have rooted myself in the comforts of earth at my feet and I won’t look to the sky anymore.

I shift down to fourth gear as my car slows to round a curve in the road. I think of the night in the parking lot when he taught me to drive this car. I am thinking of him. I remember the flowers he would bring home for me. I remember how he would pull my body close to his in our bed and kiss my shoulders before sleep. I remember how we loved each other. I remember thinking that I was trapped in that love. I felt like I was too young to need someone so desperately, and I needed that man like I needed blood in my veins. I believed so religiously and so openly that I would live and die with him, that when we reached the limits of our love, I became obsessed with my loss. I possessed ugliness in my soul. I wanted other people to hurt like I did. I destroyed my dignity in my attempts to feel less pain. I drank until the world spun around me. I used drugs until my feelings became tolerable. I had sex with men who repulsed me. I got down on my knees and begged him to come back to me.

I glance in the rear view mirror and I see the bends in the road behind me. The dotted yellow line is disappearing into a blur. I breathe a deep breath. I want to welcome the fear of butterflies in my belly again. I want to feel the exciting uncertainty of a new man. I want to trust myself. I don’t want to float through life, anesthetized to its beauty or its hideousness. I want my heart to be soft and candy colour pink. I want it to be crusty from the wounds that cut me. I want to breathe one man’s air, live in one man’s gut, and fuel one man’s dream. I want to drive away from that man, feeling drunk from our encounter, and tortured by our separation. I want to give the whistles and giggles room to expand. I want to spend my days with honesty and peace. I want to spend my thoughts on faith.

I turn my car and pass through the black gates. I let the driveway lined with trees lead me up to the house. Casey and Molly jump at me as I step out of the car. I lean down to pet them both and then follow the dogs through the side door. I get a beer from the fridge and I head to my bedroom on the second floor. I shut myself in the room and turn on the CD, leaving the volume down low. I gather my hair on top of my head with a hair tie. I strip off the clothes that are clinging to my body. My pajamas are big and comfortable. I fish a warm pair of socks out of the wardrobe. I curl up on the duvet. I reach for my book. I open to page 289. I hold it in my hands. I hold on.