Collarbones

7 - Eyes

If my eyes are windows to the soul, then they must be as black as a crow’s feathers. They are no longer the shades of blue as water interchanges along the shoreline, the light blue accompanied by the darker that rolls over it and then ends in the white foam that sprays into the air. They no longer hold the intricate shapes of cathedral windows with the multicolored glass that only seems to ever let the sunlight in.

I long ago lost my ability to let the light reach deep inside of me. Instead, I am as dark as the night right before dawn, dark as the deepest part of the ocean, dark as the blackest hole in space.

I am toppling end over end, trying to find my way back to the path that I abandoned quite some time ago. I am lost on a dirt road in the middle of a cornfield, unsure of how to continue from here.

But just before the little flicker of light that exists far off in the distance is extinguished, I hear my bedroom door being toed open. I don’t close my eyes or turn over to acknowledge the person who has made their way into my space. I continue to stare at the wall, empty and numb from the pain that courses inside.

As soon as I smell it, I feel as if I will retch right there. I hear the coffee mug being set on my bedside table almost as soon as I smell the brew. The mug is followed by the sound of the plate being put down after it. And then, the bed is sinking in and I find that there are foreign arms wrapping me in an embrace.

By this point, the pain has become too much once more. I cannot even handle being touched by someone like my mother, who was supposed to make everything better, but has only avoided the obvious. I feel the final crack in my break happening in her embrace and I am surprised to find that I  am not the only one who is crying.

An emotional breakthrough takes place in my bedroom that day with the sickening aroma of coffee lingering in the air, smudges of mascara beneath her red eyes, and the tender touch of a mother who wants to try and make things better. She whispers words of encouragement into my ears, trying to coax me from the place I’ve fallen.

A string of coughs burst from within me. When I am done thrashing about on the bed in physical pain, she squeezes me tight and promises it’ll be okay.

I’m not sure what to make of this as she leaves for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. When she comes back, I have not moved nor have I reached for the coffee or banana bread she brought me. I just lie there and wait while she joins me.

People build houses out of wood and steel because they believe them to be the strongest of materials. They believe that they can withstand anything that nature or the human world throws at it. They can’t deny the fact that along the way it’ll get bruised and banged up, maybe a window smashed by a baseball or ran into by a car. The builders are okay with this because there’s nothing they can do to stop everything that fate has in store.

And when the time comes that the house falls because of shifting plates beneath the earth’s surface or because of a bulldozer, they move on with their lives. They don’t stick around to see what happens next. They just move on, sending the home on its way to be deomlished or repaired, trusting those to take it with the best of plans.

This was the same with me. When I fell down, my dad drove me to the hospital, entrusted me into the care of a doctor. From there, my health and life were placed in the hands of a group of therapists, one who could talk to me and one who could prescribe me medicine. And while I was trying to clean up my life, those who were involved ran in all directions.

They were like a flock of birds sitting in the middle of the road, picking at the decaying animal that had been hit by a car. When another car approached, they scattered, desperate to get away before they met the same fate.

If I was the decaying animal, then everyone I knew were those damn birds.

Part of me suspects that it was me who drove the car to chase them away.

I made them scatter

Because the poison is dripping                                                                             

                  quickly now and I would like to go and taste the freedom

                                                                              that comes with the final fall.

and I don’t want them around because it’s harder to let go.