i have never been one for grieving publicly and i don't think i ever will. privately, secretly, slowly will i let you see what is tearing me to pieces. ten years ago today the one person, besides my mother, who loved me unconditionally died. what ensued was a circus of grief, showcase, silence, bickering and, eventually, the break-up of my parents. the latter wasn't a direct result of the death but it started to fracture very quickly until its complete break in july. and so, ten years later, i sit in a cubicle, so far removed from the thoughtful twelve year old who barely recognized death. i sit in nylons when at the funeral i was tugging at them because they felt like chains, keeping me contained when all i wanted was to breathe easily.
i often wonder what you would think of me had you lived. precocious, loud and selfish. would you have loved that? anti-establishment, quasi-socialist, atheist, historical asshole, attention to detail son of a bitch. you loved my quirks when i was twelve. i was already budding then.
if you were still around, i would have called you monday night and told you what he did. though five hours away, you would rant and rave until the moon was at its peak in the sky about how no one treats me that way. what would you have said to the bevy of jerks in my arsenal? did i deserve it? had i turned out like my mother? (unfair) or would you have a change of heart? would you have seen someone void of nurturing and only in need of an ear or a shoulder and that your job was done?
oh maxie. we'll never know.
i can still remember the kind of chicken noodle soup i ate that day and how, in the quiet of night just a touch before 12, i held your hand and said it. it it it it. your hand was still so warm.
