Waving Not Drowning

He told her to slow down. Be careful, he warned, you'll flame out. I know, I remember what it's like to begin. Best intentions easily go astray. You'll run out of ideas, get trite, repetitive. Trust me, this will all get very boring very quickly. She closes the browser. Elizabeth knows that the only way to quiet the demons is to eradicate them, physically. Walk away from technology, turn off her phone, shut down his lifeline to her brain and by consequence her heart. They're just words, she says aloud, to no one in particular. Huh. She sips her tepid four dollar coffee attempting to appear lost in thought while the fey beanpole of a barista tidies up the detritus around her. Every day, every single day she writes. Then she rewrites, then scores it, records it and posts. Every. Single. Day. Two hundred and six so far. A body of work that documents in detail life after the fire. Total immolation. Complete loss. A rather charred and warped tabula rasa burned into her body....

This is an incredible moment of panic. Opening up the freezer and not finding the stash of emergency chocolate. The really expensive kind, too. Fair trade, organic, chips of mint, maybe coconut, she can't remember. It was a spontaneous purchase for occasions just like this one. She knows better. Stay away from the computer. Flashing across her screen. His face. The date. The announcement. Probably as close as she'll ever come to skydiving without a parachute. She imagines that this is what it feels like. Her vision blurs, she feels her pulse pound through the veins in her neck like a torture porn movie, and waits for her heart to explode. Any second now. This is it. Old ghosts. Living in her psyche. Lining her fascia, sheathing her entire body. Tiny tubular webbing filled with fluid, stretching and undulating, tightening, seizing, creating adhesions. Blocks. Sticking patterns. She needs to break it down before it hardens into more scar tissue around her heart. Again. Months of ...

It's a long drive, up north. Past a myriad of small communities, tiny one horse towns with similar sounding names, ending in brook or hurst or steed. The occasional signs of big box stores and chain  groceries glow in the dark off an exit ramp in the distance. Last chance for food, shelter, gas and family size jars of dijon mustard and 46 rolls of toilet paper for 34 miles. Hawks circle above, banking, soaring, catching updrafts and hovering effortlessly above the treeline. There's rain in the air, a faint shift in barometric pressure. Should've packed a tarp. Should've packed her life, jammed her belongings into boxes and bags and thrown everything she's ever been into the rental car.  Never come back. No real sense of where she's heading or why she's leaving except it's something she can do. Volitional, for now, at least. No set schedule, no dependents, no rhyme nor reason to anything anymore. Despondency, ambivalence. These are foreign words now tatto...

And on the first day of May, Evan decided to turn over a new leaf. He got up early, made his bed, fixed himself breakfast, cleaned out the guinea pig's cage and packed a bag, leaving plenty of food and water and a note for Leslie upstairs. "Hi Leslie, I'll be gone for a while. Not sure when I'll be returning. Thank you for feeding and watering Fred. I've left his food on the counter and money to cover future expenses. The info for the vet is on the fridge. Oh, please help yourself to the leftover cantaloupe and strawberries- they're organic. You won't be able to contact me by cel but I will check my email when possible. Apologies for the short notice but something has come up that needs my immediate attention." And with that, Evan turned off the light above the stove, checked the timer in the living room, washed up his tea mug and plate from his morning toast and grabbed his passport and spare credit card.  No time like the present to activate extra cr...

Everything and then some, she just wanted it all, and more. Insatiable, unrelenting, intense. He couldn't keep up. Again and again and again. Normally, Brent was in the driver's seat. He was the one in control, from the get go, feigning aloofness, being all gosh golly gee, shucks woman, you are somethin else, while sizing up whether or not the lady in play was going to remain detached or emotionally launch an anchor into him. Brent always played offensive slide, answered questions with questions, mirrored behaviour while remaining emotionally detached. Completely self absorbed in the moment while rigorously not getting involved. He figured as long as he said one thing off the top he could behave any which way from then on and not be held accountable. But she was different. Demanding. Fully engaged. Wide open, completely present. Raw. Scared the pants off  him and turned him on to the nth degree. So incredibly powerful, physically. He'd fantastized about being with a tall wo...

He was at her door. Oh god that was quick. Gimme ten, she texted. He had been down the road, three blocks  away. She hadn't showered, it was that kind of day. Four in the afternoon and she was rolling around in lulus. It had been months since they'd seen each other, let alone spoken. They'd been intimate in ways well beyond lovers and friends. It was easy, always had been, perhaps because they both knew the limitations. Unavailable to each other in ways they couldn't shift, they created a new world just for them. Months grew into years, and their new world succumbed to old world ways, the cyclical pattern of lust, love, despair, and death until it eventually flamed out. Now here he was at her door and she could feel the atmosphere shift. Barometer rising. Resurrection. The smell of him, the way his hand feels in hers, how their bodies interlock in embrace. That moment. All it takes is a moment and she's back in the rabbit hole, somersaulting, cartwheeling through, s...

All Anthony wanted was a few bananas and some peanut butter. His kingdom for Nutella but he wasn't hedging his bets. He was slow going, still half in the bag from last night's commiseration session with Isabelle gnashing and wailing about Kev's new girlfriend. Anthony gets it, he does. Lord knows she put up with the Great Heartbreak of 'o8 with him. A solid year of despair and self loathing. Surviving the war. They forgot to get breakfast fixings and it's going on noon. His stomach was beyond rumbling, it was a full blown orchestra with kettle drums pounding. It's a fine line between nausea and hunger. He realizes the sound isn't emanating from his intestines but rattling the windows from College Street below. Christ almighty, the Resurrection parade. Thousands of devout Catholics lined up 5 bodies deep, celebrating the Easter holy days. For six blocks police cordoned off both sides of the street and locked down traffic. He'd never get out his front door...