Writers group is tonight and I'm hosting, happy to fill up my little apartment with such amazing people. I'm not sure what I will workshop tonight, but I thought I'd share a bit of a piece I wrote with you called "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear":
You are closer than I even remember, your lips my lips, your eyes my eyes, your eyebrows twitch and lift like mine I am confused you are a fool and I know it, I know everything, everything you can do I can do better.
I am better than you.
No you aren't.
Yes. I am.
We aren't the same, no, we aren't but still it feels like you start where I start and there is no distance between – not even breathing room – and everywhere you go I go you follow I lead I follow.
I can't even miss you cause how can I miss myself. Tell me. How.
There was never a doubt you would find me despite the woods, despite the heat, despite the dark, despite the hour. I can never hide from you even with the camoflague from the Military Surplus store. They assured me I would be invisible among the shrubs and bushes, long grasses that keep the pheasants covered until they squeak and flap and the guns shoot and it's all over. You don't like guns, their cold steel barrels, their empty sockets full. I don't like the sounds they make, I prefer fireworks or thunder and lightening storms.
I didn't come home for four days eating berries and drinking from streams using leaves as blankets and moss as my pillow. It was okay to be here – away from you – I thought it could be okay as long as I didn't die cause there would be no leaving you in heaven, we'd share the same wings wouldn't we. God is like that, right. You said so yourself one night when I had mistakenly locked myself in the bathroom and you had to break the door down and explain to our cranky landlord that it was a life or death situation and you'd help him install the new one and even mow the lawn for the rest of the summer, no questions asked. Ask no questions you told him with your eyebrows, he gave in and you obliterated the dandelions for the season with a sputtery old lawnmower with a rusty handle. I didn't tell you it was a mistake, the latch caught all on its own, I felt trapped, wanted to get out, crawled into the bathtub and put my warm cheek against its cold porcelain and feel asleep while you splintered and shook. You scared the shit out of me you silly little muffin dragged me from the tub and put me to bed and I wouldn't have woken if you would have left me alone to have dreams of toilets on stilts and old men with plaid shirts and grey faces. Never leave me, don't you ever even think of leaving and you held me so tightly my ribs ached.
I could smell you you said when you found me huddled against an old tree trunk, rings too many to count, older than me and wiser. I didn't sing even though I wanted to, I had to be quiet. You have to be quiet when you hide and breathe slow and shallow belly barely moving up and down to give it all away. When bears come, play dead. You could feel me warm from a hundred yards away you said and you picked me up and took me home and I didn't have to explain because you already knew. I can never be too far away from you. You will always know where I am, there is no point in hiding even though its fun. You don't like my silly little games do you.
We don't need any mirrors, they just distort everything and make images too crisp, too real. You just need to look at me and I just need to look at you. You will always tell me if I have broccoli in my teeth and I know if my hair's a mess by just looking at your head windswept. We broke all the mirrors, didn't we, that night when the snow was heavy and thick and made us feel like we were in a cave with bears and raccoons and rabbits. Mirrors are just glass you know, easy as pie to break and no bad luck either. All the splinters in the garbage bag looked at each other and got confused, reflection reflected and we laughed. We taught mirrors a valuable lesson. Stop looking. I'm right here.