Wednesday: Writing

Biking up the road, I noticed a very lonely mailbox with its flag up. There was no house, no sign, no other road save the one I was on, just the mailbox, standing erect against the desolation. Seeing no one around, I checked the mail.

There was one envelope inside. I pulled it out and was surprised to find it addressed to me.

I tore it open to discover a handwritten letter. It appeared to have been hastily written, with the letters leaning distinctly to the right as if the pen had been ready to fly out of his hand should he take one second longer:

DEAR LIZ,

THE REASON I CAN'T BE WITH YOU EVER AGAIN IS BECAUSE I WANT TO HAVE A FAMILY WITH CHILDREN AND YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE CHILDREN.

I'M SORRY IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY.

I AM PRETTY SURE THIS IS THE BIGGEST MISTAKE I WILL EVER MAKE.

I couldn't really argue with his last point.

Before I had been willing to make all sorts of changes for him and that was significant because I used to say that people could not change. But I had changed, even without any request from him, and I had learned the value of compromise. This, however, was something I would not change, and it was - finally - a solid concrete explanation for our separation. I was glad that he was a million miles away at sea on his boat, because I felt strangely offended and angry, and if he had been present, I would have punched him in the face.

My love for him drained out of my heart, as if someone had pulled a cork or poked a hole. Nothing made any sense, but at least I was satisfied. Maybe the hole in my heart would seal up and be filled with something new. Maybe it would always be broken and unable to hold anything ever again. But at least it was no longer carrying dead weight like a stillborn fetus.

I am not sure why but his revelation made everything seem like a false projection on a mirror through a curtain of smoke, and the last naive thread of hope that had anchored me to him snapped. I did not want him in my head, so I began pulling the memories out of my ear and they came out in long sticky strands. I rolled them all up into a ball and threw them down the road. Then I removed a book that had been sitting in my back pocket for four years. Folding it open, I picked out the pressed artifacts I had placed there some time ago: a pot leaf, the head of a daisy, a candy bar wrapper, and a blurry Polaroid picture.

I folded the letter around these items, careful not to crush them. Then I pulled my ovaries out from my vagina and stuffed them into the envelope along with the letter. I sealed it with tape and scrawled RETURN TO SENDER on its face. I placed the envelope back inside the mailbox and flipped the flag up. I wasn't sure how often the box was checked, but I figured he'd get the message.

I mounted my bike and kicked up the pedals. It was a hot day and I was very badly in need of a cool dark bar and some rich dark beer.

Writing July 22 2009

This is not really related, but I've been humming it all day:



I like last.fm's selection better than Pandora's.