Lost and Found

Last night
 You came back
 Alive.
 I smothered your face
 In tears,
 Drank your eyes,
 Wove my fingers
 Through your wiry curls.
 Cheek to cheek,
 Foreheads kissing,
 Scent gathering,
 I brushed against your lips
 and melted.
 Then you were gone. 

Fever Broke

A snap of clarity,
Crisp snow melting,
Lone goose pecking,
Me walking
Down a road I know,
Alone.
She crunches grass popsicles,
Fashions a snow nest,
Shudders in sleepy
Dreams of ancestral warmth.
I Work, Parent,
     Cook, Clean,
          Sleep, Wake,
                Step, forward
Burying your spritely smile,
Shedding the shroud
Of asphyxiating longing,
Stepping into the new normal,
Day 145.

Fear and Loathing in the Driveway

I am hiding at Vincenzo’s, shaking at the café counter in long coat and wool hat, willing away the adrenalin. Today, two weeks since the van died, I faced my fear and called CAA. So many paralyzing what-ifs. What if the mechanic asks me to open the hood and I can’t? What if they ask for exact symptoms, dates, what we’ve tried and when, and I can’t remember? What if the car suddenly starts and I look like an idiot? What if they ask me to ride along in the tow truck and the driver is a serial killer?

I warned Sam I’d wake him up for moral support and raced upstairs as soon as I made the call. “Hurry, I just called. They could be here soon.” He rolled over and groaned. I rushed back downstairs and by the time Sam got outside I had put the dog on the backyard lead and was talking with the mechanic.

“It’s a dead battery,” they insisted. “It is very common in this kind of deep freeze.”

“But we just got a new battery. And there is no electric at all, no lights on the dash when we turn the key,” I explained as Sam came up behind me. “Here – clear the snow off please,” I ordered, more harshly than intended, handing off a long handled brush/scraper combo.

“Well, let me try to charge it and see if I can get it started. I’ll get the cables while you clear the snow,” the mechanic decided.

“Okay,” I muttered to their back and then said to Sam, “Izzy is barking like crazy. I’m going to put her back inside. Keep clearing off the snow please.” Sam paused to give me a blank look before turning back towards the van.

Remembering I didn’t have my CAA card, I ran back inside. A moment later, the mechanic was nowhere to be found. “Why are you taking so long?” I asked Sam for no apparent reason.

He paused again, dropped his shoulders. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

I raced down our tiny backyard hill calling “Come on Izzy. Inside. Inside.” Why was I running? Why was I shouting? I fumbled to unhook her, and while running back up the hill tripped over my own boots and landed face down. The light poufy snow exploded, showering me with a cold mist. “Shit!” I struggled to stand. “Izzy pulled me down!” I insisted, lying to myself and anyone else who was listening.

I brushed snow off my pants and out of my boots, shook off my hat. I was prepared to laugh at myself, but Sam’s eyes met me so full of embarrassment, scorn, and disdain that any lightheartedness was instantly smothered. I said nothing, turned, and walked the dog inside.

After drying off Izzy and myself, I went back out to watch the mechanic work under the hood. Alongside Sam I stood with skittish legs, clenched hands, disembodied gaze. “What are you doing? Why do you look like that?” Sam asked, and I never hated myself more than in that moment.