Listening

This was written in June of 2018. I was sitting in the hallway of my old school and heard the wife of a man (who is now my partner) on the phone with him. It set into stone how much I missed him.

I overheard your wife on the phone with you today. What was it you were after? What did you expect? I’m good at listening, you of all people should know.

You have your lines memorized, or so you thought. It’s the day of your big performance, your silver screen moment. Endless sets of yearning eyes burning just to give themselves to you.

The slow tapping of the silk fans. Beads of sweat. Parted lips.

Draw the curtains. This is the last act, the last scene. Dim the lights. Quiet the audience. 3... 2... 1...

Showtime.

Here i am, and here you are. At either ends of the hallway. It’s collapsing into itself. Paper-folding geometric origami. Wow, have you seen anything this mesmerizing?

Zap. A bug all-too-willing to turn itself into a glowing moment of ash. Huh. Here we are again. Away we go.

Sometimes I feel like I can hear you in the silence between passing thoughts.

I’m in the crowd, but you still don’t see me. This hallway makes me feel like we’re going to float away. 

Will you float away with me?

I’m ready to hear you again. Not just in an empty room this time.

Come dance around me for a while. Circular patterns in that idealized kitchen scene. We’ve all been there, sometime or another.

Zap. The blue light flickers. Will it be me this time?

Cheap parlor tricks won’t get you far, so they say, but they’re not the ones headed up the stairs. Shit. How did I let this happen?

Back to the hallway. A different one this time. You know which. Slouched against the dirty wall, this is martyrdom in its purest distillation. 

Lambs and lions. Cat and mouse. Let me chase you this time around.

It was always mutual, I suppose. Visible to even the nakedest of eyes. 

Side glances. Pursed lips. Exasperated sighs.

Zap. Would you look at that?

You see, this is what I know.

Carving letters belonging to the other into your skin. “I’ll burn it when I get home,” you say, “It’ll blend in with the other ones.”

The light seems brighter. End of the tunnel.

I searched your name on facebook. The second suggestion says “Thank god I found you.” 

What more convincing do you need? 

I’ll sit down all night if it comes to that.