nonsensical text

Thursday, February 07, 2008

reaching

This man sits erect next to me – rigid with the knowledge that the world is out to confuse him. He just spoke to the offices yesterday. He was supposed to be at the other office today and this one in two weeks. How can they remove teeth before taking impressions? How will the impressions be accurate if there are no teeth to model? This office is trying to steal business from the other, and now he is going to get a bill from the other doctor too – for a no-show. He just talked to them yesterday. He wrote it down on the card in his wallet. See? It is written right here. His daughter is just trying to confuse him. This office must have everything backwards.

Pent up from the non-confrontational tendency to pacify by agreement, I must support a position based on second-hand knowledge. No, I didn’t talk to the oral surgeon myself. Yes, my sister did. Yes, I know you did too, but I am taking her words over yours – trusting her more. Yes, I understand that you cannot admit I was right about the office and instead have to make new defenses about dentists charging you double and changing the routine instead of you perhaps, just maybe, writing it down wrong. I reach out from my own hurt and isolation – understanding your fear when faced with direct proof that you cannot trust your certainty. I reach out knowing that in ten minutes, we will repeat the cycle. You will accuse me again. I will explain again. You will use your sugary voice to persuade the nurses that your daughter is horribly confused. I summon power from the God-seed deep within. I’m too young and vulnerable to find that power in my own character.

I am seven years old. Today I will blow out the candles to prove it. Where are you? You said you were coming. You even called me with the sole purpose of blessing me with that information. I don’t live with you, but I adore you. Maybe it is easier to do because I never remember a time when we did co-reside. The party ticks by. The cake is delayed. Your car never pulls into the all too empty space in front of our town home. The phone gives me no apologies or assurances – only empty rings.

After everyone leaves, I venture out to your town home – just a few blocks from our own for the first time. Your car isn’t there. There is no evidence of emergency. I just fell to the bottom of a priority list. The maturity of newly seven is certain that I am less valuable than doing drywall for a friend in return for a few beers and easy conversation. I am not worth the top of the list. I’m not even worth remembering.


My hand reaches out to touch your door, and it is cold just like the stiff shoulder turned to me now. The years of walls built to keep the pain away have been stripped gradually. I have no protection from the chill.

You walk through the doors into the chair. When I see you again, you will have six less teeth, but a full measure of bitterness toward me – bitterness that you will somehow remember even after you have forgotten what it is for.

I love you.

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5 Comments:

  • This is written beautifully but is very hard...which means it's good.

    By Blogger Julie Pippert, at 5:00 PM  

  • this is unbelievably powerful and amazingly beautiful. ::tears:: you hit me in the heart. your writing astounds me. love to you.

    By Anonymous jouette, at 5:25 PM  

  • k.... made my heart hurt....

    Dunno how it couldn't hurt yours.

    Tough journey's are just that....tough journey's.
    Know you're not alone in it, eh?
    Lots of love to you.

    By Blogger Mel, at 9:10 AM  

  • I don't know how to respond but just wanted to let you know this moved me.

    By OpenID wheelsonthebus, at 8:17 AM  

  • *thinkin' of ya*

    (just so ya know......)

    By Blogger Mel, at 9:56 AM  

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