Denouement

My first priority after that night was sleep. Exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, I walked back to my apartment from the field slowly, often leaning against the siding of the buildings for support, sometimes reaching for a tree branch if it were near.

When I passed Kyle’s apartment I stared at his upstairs window, wondering if he was sleeping the same way as when I’d seen him what, hours earlier? If his room was the same way it was when I looked down, seeing him and what felt like most of the town, going about their early morning business as usual. I wondered now, the way you wonder about dreams, trying to pull pieces together that were still there, but stowed, their connections alone, hiding in a dark corner of memory you will only recognize when you cross it, weeks later, months, years even. What memories are left are fuzzy, sometimes coming into a hazy clarity before fading again like the sun behind a cloud bank on an overcast day. I believe what I experienced was from a place beyond us, existing unseen to all in the way that exists in plain sight because we trust too much on our eyes. If it is unseen, it is not. And in the way a day of grief will inevitably follow a day of joy, and a joy following grief, emotion is forgotten, recalled as a construct, our own creation afterward, pieced together as a statement with a photograph, fuzzy images and a smile, maybe even a teardrop.

That said, trust what you will; believe your emotions, experiences and perhaps not so much your nagging sense of doubt and the betrayal of your eyes. Suspend your disbelief.

I thought about knocking, but didn’t. It was now maybe six in the morning, six thirty – I didn’t know how long the visions lasted. To have tried to put a length upon them was putting them in a box, the kind of box small enough for an eye to recognize in an instant, to shatter the moment and hide it forever.

No, Kyle would still be sleeping. I could knock on his door when I awoke later in the day. And so I moved on.

My door, unlatched behind me, opened without a sound, closed behind me. The inside of my apartment had a smoky feel to the air, the way a low hanging cloud of smoke will linger at a bowling alley or bar long past closing time. Like a spritz of air freshener, the smell of ozone like a rainstorm, wet asphalt and lightning, crept below my nostrils, as if to suggest it had been here all along.

The inside of my front window was covered in fingerprints and smears, blood, sweat, tears, painting a kind of stained glass collage that frosted the window so that I could not see out. This was okay. I didn’t care to see out. I’d been seeing out all night. A scatter of cracks ran from one corner, disappearing into the middle, each stopping at some point as if running out of steam. A crack prepared to run like the buildup of water in a damed river. Potential inside it, a pulse in a vein, blood throbbing.

I tapped the window, once, with my fingertip, and the cracks like roused animals bolted, the way a dog will look up when it hears you arrive home, when he sees you stand in the entryway and put down your bag. In an instant the cracks had scattered to the corners, a sizzle of electricity from my fingertip. A pane near the top, split into a funny lopsided triangle slipped and tumbled to the ground outside. The rest of the frame quivered but didn’t fall. I wondered when it would.

It certainly wasn’t safe to sleep under that window this morning, likely a far better idea to instead just take to me bed, spread wide the blinds, let the morning light spray inside and run over my body, sleep deep.

Sleep wasn’t particularly restful. It never has been after that. My body only really recovering by drawing on a kind of well deep inside and healing at its own rate, but shutting my body down for some hours did account for something, and I had enough energy to make it through the day after that.

The sleep itself was like stepping into another world. Throwing away the physical. My dreams were abstract and vibrant, another rendezvous with the emotional, but this time completely forgotten upon awakening. Only the residual suggestion of a dream the way a suggestion of a place, emotion, or person will linger after waking, and the smell of burnt hair and below it, ozone again, emanating.

The shower helped. The water running down over my body renewed an awakening in me that I hadn’t felt in, well, hours.

I dried my hair, ignored any small adjustments for makeup or my hair, and left the apartment. The sun was high in the sky, probably put it around noon – I wondered for a second if Kyle might have been in class, if his summer philosophy class was even still going – but quickly resolved that it didn’t matter. If he was here, he was here, if he wasn’t, then I’d come back later.

I stepped up to his door, rapped quickly, and stepped back. When Kyle opened the door, not bothering to hide his expression of surprise to see me, of all people, on his front porch. He took an extra step back to hide behind the door, as if I weren’t here for forgiveness, but instead for a violent revenge of some kind.

“Hi Kyle. I’m sorry about what’s happened between us. This was a very confusing time for me. May I come in and talk about it?”

His expression was still wary, but he opened the door a little wider and let me inside.

He waited as I told him everything, too stunned to nod or ask questions, his brain working I think, to decide whether I was telling him a lie to string him along. When I finished, I went to the kitchen and got myself a glass of water and he said:

“I’m worried about you.”

Blind

June 21, around five in the morning.

The sun was rising. Birds had been chirping merrily for some hours now, in that summer way that carries their song as an unintended celebration of the new day; they were just enjoying themselves, chattering.

Pressed against the front door, my hand on the handle, draped there, strength gone from my arm, eyes heavy – my whole body heavy in fact – a return to the physical a kind of hyperawareness of my body, my limbs like lead, my head heavy, like a sickness, sound too loud, the darkness to bright, sensation crawling along your arms as even the slightest brush of air touches the hair, running fingers, a first lover running a finger up your leg and that crawling tickle of new flesh untouched, private.

I wanted to get outside more than anything. The door was locked, I felt trapped again. The Monster was behind me, in the living room, crouched tight, cloak dangling thick from his arched back, eyes glaring, black stuff surrounding him, whether the edges of our own world pulled tight around him or the stuff of the other world seeping inside, a black pollution, leaking through the cracks, bad energy, the bitter stuff of nightmares and domestic violence, stuff of revelation, a distant sight cleared to the past, war, violence, competition and overcoming, revolution, or the future, entropy, inevitable death, decay, divorce, but the peace with death, the security that you exist here,

now.

Teardrops from the eyes, emotion become physical,

my mom staring sightlessly, reaching out, running for salvation, decay, bad to worse, but a savior.

Perspective is with the eyes, sweet distant sight, mediums, instruments,

Windows.

.

I get it.

You look in and you press it into a ball and you study the gunk across your hands. The Monster, there in the corner, hidden, watching, the shadows staring,

Dig deep to pity, grieve, open doors and turn to the night. Take faith and throw it away, self esteem shot, a belief fading,

lost,

An invitation for those things in the night. And so the electricity wavered, echoes of manifestation drawing across a bridge, nightmares pressed deep, home invaders, images of something generally unseen.

Finally the door handle sagged in my grasp, putting my weight beneath it, the latch opening just enough so that I could pull the door open before me.

A cool breeze blew through the opening to match the humidity filling thick behind me.

Push forward, legs be strong, stumble into the entryway, hold tight to the walls for support, despite my arms’ best efforts sagging and weak.

The grass felt cool against my skin, a pleasant tickle for some reason not overwhelming, cool, the hint of dew smearing my clothes and hands. I pressed it to my face and breathed deep.

The sky had lightened, preparing for the sunrise, a dull glow in the east, a flame licking the underside of the wood, kindling smoldering. The mountains had turned that majestic color famous to Colorado, a soft magenta, a purple taking second stage. The sky above, a flat navy blue, coming around to the dawn like a slumbering high school student – only if forced, the color of the sky on a night of a full moon.

Burst aflame, coax the embers, a fire of another kind.

Take a match to the edges of your fabric, watch a doorway smolder, a hole, a tear

drop below and see, underneath what you know, the black edges turn hard and curl, a melted plastic, mechanical inter-workings, last night.

But this morning the sky alights, a combustion in full view, not hidden, a hand of God, a touch, good morning,

My mother comes into my room to rouse me for school, a cool knuckle across my forehead, I murmur, acknowledging but refusing to act,

“Come on, Katie-girl. It’s time to meet the day.”

Touch shadows too, the trees and buildings, cast black distances, mountains, pull the covers overhead, burrow deep.

“I know you’re under there. Take your time. I’ll be downstairs getting breakfast ready.”

.

The sky alights, a red, an orange, give way, lay the carpet and announce an awakening, resurrection,

A natural necromancy,

The birds chirp,

Revisit, relinquish, let go.

.

Sun touch the horizon, a reversal, a rising, defy the laws, ascend, a moment stretches, a red orb rising, the sky erupts, oozes, the world at that point between sky and land,

Inverse, stand on your head and look out, sink sun into a clear ground, spaceless, legs dangle, fall,

To one side, the past, to the other, the future, a roadway running, a single star rests, stand still, fall

Fall

Fall

The space at the horizon, shred, a gap, see into the gap, blind eyes, you’re not supposed to look but it’s there to see.

There’s a power on the other side, a distance graspable, shred night sky and take a place in your own,

There is no sun, there’s only a hole giving glimpse,

An eyeball watching, a burn in a knob, turn the key and

Fall.

Throw my arms wide and

Fall.

Feel the heat from the other world singe, run across your face, the earth tilts, lean, too far, too hot, the sun bursts, flames lap, reach,

Fall.

Lean too far forward and tumble,

Unfurl, glare, a thousand eyes exploding, a million, burning, touch, singe,

The trees on one side in white, the other side in black,

Sing. Sing. Sing

And then it

.

Stops.

.

A glaze of white. A snowfall on a bright January day. A beach at midsummer. White burst, stark,

Blind.

Send the world dark, blind eyes and white, no comparison, no ratio, they are the same.

.

Break the world open and see. From the white, the image of a tree, grows like tar bubbling from the earth, filling in the cracks, branches bloom, details creep to the surface, first the small rises, gradual changes, filling deeper, sculpting.

Blossom deep, cast a shadow, horizon then, sky, roots spread and grip the ground tight, curvature and steep,

fall

The earth tilts, hovers, pinwheel arms, balance sought

Balance.

Swing back, reversal,

.

STOP.

STOP.

The earth stops, turns backward,

Fall, spiral back, drifting in an orbit far above, seeing far above,

Fall up, eyes peppering like millions of stars. Gaze, watch.

.

Come back to Earth, screaming against grass, tears, singing, souvenirs.

A man in black is standing, watching me from next to a tree, his body lingering on the other side of the trunk.

He nods.

I blink.

And he’s gone.

Unraveling

June 21, shortly after midnight

There. I’ve said it. I’ve watched it again, relived it, therapeutic rehash, the night my parents died. The night my parents died to save my life.

Push myself from the laptop, stumble to the bedroom, exhausted, tired, I fall into bed but I know it won’t be for long, and I know it won’t be restful, but my brain is cloudy and fuzzy and my eyelids are drooping and that’s the only place to go.

3:07 am

The Monster.

The time burns red into a room pitch black. Should the moon be masked, yet slumbering, already fallen? Equally as unlikely that the streetlamp should have sputtered out.

Here.

The bed sheets are sticky with sweat, my room humid, as if my body heat has radiated into the air around me, memory and nightmare leaked through skin, pollution.

My sleep was not for me. It wasn’t some escape from my reality, as it hasn’t been in the last few months, and why I work so hard to rebel against it.

A black mass on the doorstep, pressing the doorbell over and over again.

A dream state, fade

let him in.

Come to the bedroom door and clutch at the handle again, a curtain falling, a fear grabs tight and clenches, a fear we know, familial in a way, but only by association and time past.

He’s in the living room. Sharing the company of the Stranger, the only way he knows, two ex-lovers of a woman stand in a room and make a wordless conversation.

Tremble, quiver.

Build up a courage unknown, draw deep, still your hand and know. You died once, you witnessed and you sank.

Turn the key and tear the world open

starburst, lightning. The stuff of dreams.

Dispose of the physical, an emotional bridge. Reflect the sky at twilight and drift, fade

My hand doesn’t tremble, but I’m still afraid. It’s the fear, that keeps my blood cold and my jaw tight, a pulse twitches with a steady resolve, a sob in my throat.

Is there another way to open the door? Denial? Lies?

Everything, they sing, will be alright everything

Expecting a happy solution is resurrection, an unearthly necromancy.

So grab tight of the fear, push open the door.

.

The living room is as pitch black as the rest of the apartment. I can’t see my hand in front of me. Two glowing frames, dull green and semi-transparent hover somewhere before me. They cast no light. They have no depth or perspective. They are as flat as the image of the hand against my face, reach out, touch them, just out of reach, a distance near.

Bring the world in, come close, take a look. This is simple. A girl in a cage, hold back, not too close, squeeze tight and watch her run in circles or sit.

He’s here. Of course he’s here. He’s in the middle of the room and he’s cast about in our world for pieces he knew, shadows tight

I’m not sure if it’s the darkness or the fear that makes it hard to breathe.

I sit on the floor and I wait, my limbs running numb, hollow, useless, floating in black space,

fade

Lose track of time, an hour, five minutes, two years go by.

Begin count in your head

one

two

three

Stop. Lose pacing. There’s no rhythm here, there’s no passing sound of cars along the main road, no cycle of traffic lights as bars expel, cough, breathing in and out, ebb and flow, hold your breath and float.

Start over again

one

two

three

Stop. Lose count. Start over again from one, no seconds have passed.

How many times have you lost count? How many times have you started again

A do over. A game resumed.

A life, a rebirth. A perpetual motion.

one

two

three

The air around me turns crisp.

Feel black strands in my lungs, push them out, not another breath, they shred.

Force your eyes closed, then open, no change but to feel movement, a skin against skin, reach into the air and shred.

Shrivel and become light, float, fade,

drift.

An ember is vomited from the fire, a shard of wood, once hard, outer shell, bark, flaming, turn gray and drift

away between the trees, beyond the glow.

Don’t breathe. Close shut your eyes, squeeze tight,

a frustration builds, the byproduct of the fear, growing at your center, somewhere around where your chest would be if you hadn’t lost it, implode, a black space, scream,

but not be heard,

that comes later, write, speak, share, open a door

closed now,

Before you and me, me.

.

My name is Katie.

My parents died in February on Valentine’s Day trying to save my life.

There was beauty in her teardrop.

I came to Colorado to find myself and escape the grief

Reach out, a front window watching, frosted glass, a new world,

My only reality, established,

these are our facts. Hold them close

and unravel.

.

A voice should speak now, but doesn’t.

I’m not writing this.

.

Words lost when you travel above,

so see this,

supernova, a world bright again, shattered edges, a thousand stars, each eyes, watching, without seeing, reaching out to touch as if fingers,

a lover, first, a gentle touch against skin, lips part before meeting, lost in years,

Sensation replace anticipation find true love and emote.

A man stands in the back of the crowd

A pig screams in the distance but it’s not heard.

The whisper of birds wings, the only voices, murmurs, just recycled world below, digest, regret, repeat, history’s mistakes, tomorrow’s car crash

Look yourself in the eye, you’re here too, see the photograph before it’ taken, that’s all.

Unfurl wings wide and burn. Flaming scraps of the edges spiral into the air and explosions rip through the night.

I am not here. He cannot see me, only the eyes like all the others. He understands these eyes as he understands the edges of the veil, the key, the door,

Do not refold the pieces, do not replace the puzzle. Each piece slides in a box is still a whole.

Burn and scream, the white light behind him silhouettes him and hides a body in his shadow. How well do you see.

Do not look with your eyes, do not see with your head

He is not six inches away, but feel his breath on your face.

Lost the cloak of night, pull tight the edges of the earth, drop sun at twilight, draw the color from trees, the mountain horizons pulled tight, past brown, black, it happens every day.

Pull the pieces together, mop up the tears.

Scream and see above, rise up.

.

A street lamp shines orange through the window. My couch is against the wall, my small television on a stand in the corner. Dust across the surface. It hasn’t been watched in some weeks.

There’s the blue light of the moon shining across the front window sill. Kyle is sleeping next door, half out of his covers, too hot, a leg dangling over his bed. A couple curls against couch cushions talking. Most are sleeping. A man drives past, drinking from a coffee flavored energy drink called Monster, he mutters along with the song on the radio. It’s called Baby.

A fox trots across the road, first turning his head to see the oncoming car, then turning back, throwing his shoulders, where he disappears into the bushes on the other side.

A man walks along a creek smoking a small cigar.

An alarm clock goes off and a woman slaps it snoozed and rolls over.

A girl stays up typing an essay, each word coming slowly, a book before her.

Three friends sit around a table drinking beer and playing cards, laughing, a movie forgotten against the corner.

A small group speaks into the night and waits for an answer.

A young man types at his laptop, eyes glazed, a steady but rotting focus.

A man drives his car down the highway with his wife asleep next to him, his children sleeping on a mattress in the bed. A sign suggests that the next services won’t be for forty-two miles. He presses the accelerator and moves on, eyes scanning the horizon for a hint of the dawning sun, but the stars are still thick and the sky still black.

.

Lose the facts and the plot, your name is Katie.

.

Split the sky in two and scream. The sun is still too far to rise.

.

Clench, Katie, squeeze deep and fly, fade

.

Turn up the lights and scream. Reflect inside back upon inside, the space between two planes, flat, a surface smooth,

a window inside a home.

Each left, eyes, pinpricks of light, blue and green, a darkened swirl, shadow comes, turns around and glimmers, if just for a moment, a reflected spark.

.

Run, chase your parents, two souls spiral and fly, firefly lights into the twilight, bridging the silhouette and ticking sky

.

Pull up the mirror, look deep, chase the spark.

You’ve looked back, sprint forward, grip tight, outrun the beast,

Hold fast,

fade.

.

When I land, my face is pressed against the glass of my front window and I’m screaming. When I stop, there’s only his voice; silence.

“So sing.”

The Second Curtain

(February 14, 2010)

Valentine’s Day and the single girl. A trip into the city with my parents for a quiet evening on the town in celebration of the holiday. A distraction, a familial comfort in the face of a loveless life. It was a night of bright colors. Dim sparkled lighting inside the steakhouse, the way the hanging string-lights cast a rainbow pattern inside crystal glasses, against the ice and the water, inside my mother’s eyes when she looked at me, a pang of regret at the things I’ve done, the trip to California, the fight in sophomore year. Necessary, but painful. My dad cracking a smile from one corner of his whiskered cheek in approval, talking about jobs and retirement, a contradiction unheeded, but easily forgotten; a daughter, her parents.

The waiter, hot plates and napkins, a gentle hand on the shoulder to reach across the table, a sparkle in his eye too, an extra gaze for a few seconds too long, the shredded cheese unimportant. It only took three bites. A unique recipe. The waiter returned promptly, the tinkle of the ice cubes, the sound of the water crashing against water too loud,

Too loud before replaced with a ringing and the world breaking apart.

go two dimensional, flat white explosions around the cracks, pieces of the scene break off and glimmer, the black swirls at the edges and threatens takeover, my head feeling light, too light, something funny, my dad catching on in barely the time of two heartbeats not pumping right, grabbing the waiter by the arm, to his feet in an instant, an old navy man pushed deep inside surfacing above cold deep water, a gasp of breath,

“Was this prepared with peanuts?! Anywhere near the dish?”

But it was me sliding from my chair that acted as more confirmation than the waiter’s wide eyes and murmurs. Going black, only bursts of white light, blurred red, the ceiling, string lights, supernova starbursts, fighting for consciousness, fighting.

“Call 911!”

Forgot the epi pen.

A sweet blackness pressing, my limbs gone, my torso gone, my head alone, eyes forgotten, senses deprived, a floating, a mind alone, no need for thought, see through the curtain, drift…

Forgot. So easily. An accident in the kitchen, an accident at home, a hand of God, that tonight should be the night. If such were the means, far reach, so be it.

A burst, pain, but sweet flow of air, fuzzy images back, my head too heavy now, a pounding, a screaming in my ears.

“Get her moving, bring the car around!”

“Paramedics are on the way, sir!”

“No time. No time. Eight o’clock traffic.”

“There’s a hospital six blocks from here!”

“We’re going.”

Drift… a sensation fluid, close your eyes and go. The blurry colors swirl, make me dizzy, head drops back, spinning, spinning, drift…

Murmurs and comfort. You’re gonna be fine baby, you’re gonna be fine.

Didn’t feel fine. Feel sluggish, then drift, gone again, gentle black cushion, a peace.

Back again with a flickering and a buzz,

“Stay with me, Katie, dammit!”

My mom.

“C’mon, change, light, change!”

“Dive safely, Gregory!”

“I am!”

The hand tilts, beckons, reaches and nudges, ever so gently, the violence of the steel,

Green light, punch it, pop the clutch and gear, the silver sports car, misses the light, catches a yellow, red, two seconds late,

It happens fast, the car crumples, metal shrieks, my father doesn’t cry out but my mother does. The doors go like foil but the steel is sharp, where it doesn’t pierce it folds and locks. We spin. The lights out of control, ice like glass, windshield fractals, car horns scream and scream and scream. There’s blood somewhere, there’s more bangs and more motion and more spinning and street lamps above flicker and twirl, it’s a dance, God pushes, leads, steps forward and opens, spins, a romance,

valentine’s day,

welcomes back. Come on up to my place? It’s a penthouse suite. A great courtship, end, a night beginning.

I don’t know when the car stops spinning because my mind is spinning. My throat wants to close. Blood on the pen, sprays, the urge to cough and the pain that cuts deep. I’m folded into a crouched fetal shape, a birth imminent for each, two up, one out.

The seat has snapped around Mom and bent her back at a funny angle and she’s twisted and staring at me, arched. Can’t talk. Dad reaches to hold her tight against him but she doesn’t feel it.

I’m staring into her eyes and she smiles.

A teardrop, beaded up and curled. Ignore the bleeding others and pay attention.

This one, reflects the outside in a warp, the image upside-down, the day running backward, college graduation, moving away from home, the fight, high school, proms and nights at home watching movies and eating pizza and laughing, birthdays, Christmases, full days lost under trees and family and the laughter and midnight coming, three of us, sharing a glass of wine, remembering, grade school, conferences, slumber parties and makeup, dress up, the hospital and a birth.

If I look closely, I fancy inside the drop I can see an image of myself, peering deep.

Water slips, a flat stream, too much weight, the drop grows thick, too heavy, out of control, it loses grip on the lash and slides down her cheek, the rest of the surface dries clear,

fade.

Her mouth moves soundlessly.

Fade.

The rain is falling on the car, a cold rain, sleet,

An ambulance flickers red and blue oncoming, throwing blind light to the glass again, a frozen moment, the water running, thick, first red, then blue, white. The lights don’t strike the glass, they don’t lay flat, outspread, shielding, in that moment I see the boxy vehicle, I hear its scream through the drum roll on the roof, I see the reflective tape catch my lights like a flashbulb on an iris.

I press a hand against the glass. Peer out.

I can’t see anyone. The water is a shimmer. The pane of glass like a fountain, melting into the street, refreshing from the top again. Two fingerprints smudge.

I can’t see out.

No one can see in.

A cat in a locked box.

A sense of decay.

Dad hasn’t moved since he leaned over Mom. I scream. I scream long and hard but it’s unheard.

I’m in here. I’m in here. I’m trapped in here.

Red and blue and white against the shimmer of water. Flat. Just me in here now. Just myself and my demons.

I scream again and my head goes light, fuzzy, the world goes flat and breaks apart again, shatters along the cracks, fades into a blackness.

Come back, Katie. Not yet.

Forced eyes open, the world still pixelated, a picture zoomed in, nothing between the cracks but colored boxes. There is no meaning here.

A face at the glass, looking inside, watching me, staring, considering, head cocked, mouthing something, a voice unheard. Like a fish outside of water, I mouth back, words don’t rise, nothing to say, communication shot, my head is passing again. They’re pulling at the handles and can’t open the doors, they want to break the glass. They want the jaws of life,

but then the world shatters again, along the spider-webs, black ink oozes, a world below, reach for the cracks, long for that peace, chase your parents, touch her face, look at the world through the teardrop and see it running backwards, a reversal near caught, your reflection upside down, a truth, an honesty, an emotion forced to physical,

the teardrop pressed at the finger of God,

made palpable,

a crack near the edge of her eye, an ectoplasm, a drop from that world into ours.

Reach deep, reach far, grasp with the fingers on the edge of the glass where it has shattered, the blood isn’t needed, just tears,

an emotion stretching, you can’t deny it, you can see it, it’s an act of love, a beauty in the situation, a meaning, her passing, my chasing.

Again, swirling and surrounding deep, head heavy, deny the physical and chase the floating black,

A deeper tear, tear, tear, tear.

Nudge it open, chase the light of those before,

Tear the world apart.

A white shatter, a madness hard, the light explodes, non physical, teardrop, glory and fear, the

monster, full in front, no eyes to close, no head to turn away, no door to slam but the one behind,

flash

paddles like a key, beat on my chest, shirt torn open, naked, water running against skin,

black swirls, the monster’s eyes aflame, screams, the terror deep, he is death, he is watching from that world, of the black, looking out, be wary and don’t come near, don’t follow when you shouldn’t, there’s meaning here

he isn’t it.

flash

paddles like a key, beat on my chest, shirt torn open, naked, water running against skin, a gasp of breath,

black swirls again.

The monster laughing, fleeing backwards, afraid, lost, the lights gone, the black pressing again, head spinning, feverish, coughing and hacking and clawing and breath,

flash

paddles like a key, beat on my chest.

There’s white light and electricity and I reach forward to wipe the tear from Mom’s cheek but Mom isn’t in front of me, the car is left behind, crumpled gone, and my arm won’t move. In a motion, toward the sky, shut inside and left, screaming, into the distance again, sucked away,

fleeing backwards, afraid, lost, the lights gone, the black pressing again.

“Stay with us, girl. Stay with us.”

The Terms

June 20, shortly after 10:00 pm

Lock the doors, close them tight, twist the blinds and turn away, stare at the brick wall and look at the dirty concrete. Look left, that tunnel, memory past, look forward, duel the monster, overcome, forward motion, step outside.

Stop avoiding it. Stop romanticizing. Stop pitying yourself.

It’s about coming to terms.

Throw the curtains, turn bright the lights. They’re dead. They’re not coming back.

Caress the light switch. ON: Denial, memory. OFF: Sleep, nightmare.

Light up the house.

They’re dead and they’re not coming back.

And past that, turn round, look forward, kill the lights and dream;

You’re more alive than you ever have been.

Your Side of the Glass

There’s a small pile of dead flies on my front windowsill. I’ve cleared it off three times now but they keep coming back. Mites by the window above the sink.

I’m standing at the stove, a kettle waiting. I was going to make a mug of tea, but got distracted, turning the dial back and forth, the sparks clicking, clicking, clicking, clicking. The smell of gas rises.

I’ve been out of internet connection for nearly a week now. The blog left dry on an old post, a thought hanging, an idea left, lost. Over too quickly, forgotten, hanging, spent. Can’t end like that. It’d be like real life.

A cliffhanger ending, a question posed. Subjective reality, interest lost, moved home and left the blog. How would you imagine it went?

Reality, my perception, what I share, what you read, how you read it.

If I stopped writing, will anything change?

Stand by the window, listen for the kettle to scream. Watch for faces watching back. The glass frosts, mirrors back.

Backward letters, a voice from the gloom.

You stand in an iron room and you scream. No sound. When you stop expecting to be heard, you’re screaming for yourself. Anything beyond that is only fear.

Nothing to lose. As good as dead. A locked box. Come to grips with mortality. Flip the switch, look the monster in his eye.

Are you afraid for me? Turn the gas on and wait with a match.

I can tell you anything. I can build pyramids in the Rockies. I can ignite the evening. I was on the knoll, at the Golgotha, outside your window. I can bring my parents back to life.

All you know is a truth on your side of the frosted glass,

and that I’m still here to write in it.

Among the Torrents of Others

You wander the back alleys of the old towns in sunlight. There is a security here between two brick walls,

but like the road, stretching above a space torn away to reveal only sky,

one pinpoint of light, back to another, you turn your shoulders parallel, you stare forward, you try to see them both at once but you cannot.

One end, or the other.

Walking backward staring at the entrance, a red wash from crumbling bricks, a congealing puddle run stagnant in the cracks

is a great way to go willingly into the clutches of another, unseen,

the moment skin touches skin, a seizure

* * *

You should have been watching

he is dangerous. He’s a rapist. He’s there to hurt you.

.

You turn around and bear witness to whichever mistake, realize a jarring truth

.

he’s a friend, coming to say hi

he’s a monster.

.

Turn around. Walk forward. Problem solved. Outrun the clutches, see him coming.

climb the walls and look down. See the alley entire. See him and the one wearing the mask.

* * *

He called again. Hot sun creeping slow around the roof’s edge, crawling down the wall, a two dimensional attack. Comical in it’s advance. I think it likes the laughter.

I answer the cell. I don’t know why.

Crackle. Static. Electronic Kyle.

“You should really get a new cell dude.”

“Hi Katie.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Yes?”

I think it likes the laughter.

* * *

You watch the twilight crowds in your old town. In your down town. In your bar scene and ice cream parlors.

Camera posing and giggling, sober yet, give it time. Sweet escape. Mini skirts and open clothes.

You search out the dark one, because he has to be here. He’s among company. Best to hide in the dark, where he’d blend in, best to hide among the torrents of others.

Fleeting glances, afraid for eye contact. There’s a wild look in my eyes, a frantic, animal flickering, too wide, too fast. Best to cast your eyes down but you can’t. You have to watch for him. He’ll be appearing behind the corner of that shop any second. He’ll be there. And he’ll stare. And he won’t need the phone anymore.

* * *

You stumble home, you embrace the cool feel of the night. You watch a mosquito dig deep and suck hard. You watch the moon shine bright and pretend its light is not from the sun.

You see Kyle on his front steps smoking something. You see the way his eyes plead with you, a frustration gone, a sadness, a confusion.

Your phone rings in your pocket.

You don’t need to answer it to know who it is.

You stand still and look into his eyes.

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak but the time for words has fled.

Your phone rings in your pocket.

But doesn’t go silent.

“I’m so sorry, Kyle.” And you mean it. And that’s why it’s so scary.

Reducto Ad Absurdum

“I’m worried about you.”

“What do you want?”

“I tried to be a good friend, Katie. As good I could be. I’m no great socialite.”

“No shit.”

“I tried to roll with you, I tried to wait out my confusion. Everything I say is wrong. I want to know what’s happening.”

“Funny, Kyle, because you know exactly what’s happening.”

“Can we pretend like I don’t? This is going to perpetuate itself on the impression that I’m some degenerate.”

“Go away, Kyle. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

“You’re making my case. You think I’m manipulating you. I’m not. I want to help.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I know why you think you should be worried about me.”

“It’s a rational conclusion.”

“Of course. Because it’s best to approach the irrational with rationale.”

“The only response to an insane world is insanity?”

“Is it?”

“I was quoting.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know. You seem to think the world has moved beyond insane. You’ve seemed to move beyond the world entirely.”

“You turn out the lights and you make the world fade away. What am I going to see when I let it in?”

Silence.

“Will you kill the power if I don’t?”

“Whatever you’re involved in, it’s dangerous, Katie.”

“I’m running around with a loaded pistol. Three bullets.”

“Yeah.”

“Put your worries away, I’m fine. Right as rain up in my head here.”

“You don’t think that you need to see someone professional.”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re experiencing things that aren’t real, yeah.”

“And you want to help me? This is unbelievable.”

“Your stubborn refusal is what’s unbelievable.”

“Goodbye Kyle.”

“Wait. Stop. Katie, you’ve been going through some weird shit lately, right?”

“Oh. God. How did you know?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

Silence.

“Alright, Katie. How do I get through your head on this one.”

“More manipulation. This is great.”

“What if… Okay, weird stuff happening, right? Would it be so weird if I didn’t know anything about it?”

“What?”

“In the face of all else that’s happened, would it be so weird that I don’t know anything about what’s happening?”

“You think that the conversations we’ve had weren’t real? You’re trying to suggest I’m imagining things?”

“Something has to explain a discord between our individual experiences.”

“Isn’t that what you philosophers are all about? Reality?”

“Well, yes, in some respects. Each person’s experience is completely unverifiable, subjective. Each carries their own reality.”

“So there, who’s to say that I’m wrong?”

“Society.”

“I’m not too concerned about society.”

“I can see that. Do you even have food left in the house? When was the last time you were out?”

“Quit trying to change the subject.”

“Or the last time you slept?”

“I’ve come to an understanding with my reality. Why are you so afraid of it?”

“Because you’re embracing it.”

“You want me to turn off the lights, don’t you? You want me to. You’ve been courting me all these weeks and now you want to meet me, don’t you?”

Silence.

“I must be crazy, talking to the shadows. Expecting answer. Worst yet, considering it.”

“Why is it necessary that I’ll wind up in trouble if I embrace what you call crazy, what I call otherworldly?”

“Have you ever heard of things going well for a crazy person?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen past the epithet.”

“Not to mention, should what you’re experiencing be real – “

“It is.”

“Sure. Should it be real, you’re dabbling in a darkness far above and far beyond you. That’s not child’s play.”

“So now you’re acknowledging it?”

“No. Just suggesting.”

“Yeah, it’s just you suggesting the furthering of your petty philosophy experiments on me. Your manipulation.”

“Maybe it’s not me who’s doing the manipulating.”

“What do you know about the dark?”

“Nothing. Of course I know nothing. But darkness is dangerous.”

“And people who dive into the dark are crazy.”

“Or dead.”

“We listen to neither.”

“Maybe with good reason.”

You’re calling me a liar?

No. Maybe your perception is just a little off right now. Maybe you’re emotional. Maybe you’re wrong.

Maybe you’re an antisocial scientist.

I wish there was some way to prove that I’m not.

That’s because there isn’t any proof.

And nothing is real unless it is witnessed.

I think it might be best if you leave now.

Throwing Back the First Curtain

(Before Today)

The shower is running above me, spitting water, each drop, breaking, smashing, smaller drops, falling out of control until as one, a flow,

Into the drain.

Each bead, following the quickest plane, the smoothest curve, the steepest surface, out of control, falling against the skin, until as one, a flow.

Wrap the water close, droplets like thread, a time lapse clothing, a transparent shimmer, a view obstructed. But a moment frozen,

Naked.

Watched.

The shower curtain thrown back. Black shadow. Greedy eyes.

Curious?

Huddled in the corner, covering my body.

He shrugs and shakes his head but his image doesn’t move.

Eventually he leaves and it’s eventually still before I realize he is gone.

* * *

We will burn everything down, you will be in the middle, huddled and alone,

And all you will have left

Is you.

* * *

He’s standing outside. He standing not twenty yards from my window and he’s looking at me and he’s not moving, just standing there, arms hanging at his sides, no flare of a cigarette, no casual lean with his hands in his pockets to make himself more comfortable. His legs are locked. His head is low. He’s watching me. I am the only thing in his world right now. I am naked, I am caged.

A hand against the glass. Face first against a shining light from behind. A mirror to my eyes.

* * *

“He’s still out there. He’s watching me. He’s still watching me. You have any idea who he is? Any way to make him shove off? Or are you only good for keeping a place homey and interfering in conversations between new friends?”

There is only silence. Silence is his language. Silence is all I know.

“So sing,” he says.

* * *

There is no light. The power is still out in my apartment. I stare out the front window and see the lights along the neighborhood, street lamps aglow, front porch lights on, a welcome, kitchen windows lit.

It is only mine that is dark.

Turn a light on inside, blind and bind the caged.

Keep the lights off. Please.

* * *

Help me.

Do nothing.

* * *

There’s a knock on the front door and I answer it.

Means to Hide

(June 13)

Earlier in the evening, I’d turned on my back porch light in order to investigate the lock on the back door. I know, I’d already looked it over twice before, but the night was falling and I wanted to be sure it was secure before settling in. At the time I thought, what harm would it be, to keep the light on and bathe the back in light, to not let the shadows creep so far as to press up against the glass.

But now, curled up against my front window, I can only stare at the back patio with a rising sense of terror in my chest. The light didn’t do so much as break up the shadows but provide them a stage. The light was waiting for something to be lit.

Sit. Watching. Staring through the glass. The suspense building as tension becomes certainty. It’s a matter of when, now. When the black figure will creep across the glass, left to right, one end to the other, without detail, black, without acknowledgment, just passing, a creature of the night, up to something. Too close to my house, it involves me, he’s acting against me. He’s not afraid of the light.

Watch out the back window for the darkness to come slinking around, hesitating.  Reaching for a light switch.

Pause.

Flipping the switch off, face to face with the glass, a clarity to the outside. Muddled thoughts, encircling a question, dilemma. Is it more frightening to see the monster bold in the light? Or give it means to hide?