Today, while sitting on the toilet seat, across from the bathroom mirror, I stared at the milky stains, making a mental note (for the umpteenth time) to wipe it clean soon. I was done peeing, but I lingered, allowing the tiredness to settle in my feet and turn to metal.
I wished I could see my reflection. I closed my eyes and imagined me standing in front of it, and you behind me. Today is Saturday. On Monday, you said you’d come visit, so when I woke, I dressed up for the office, and packed food like I was going for a picnic (I always mentally spell this as “picknick” before realizing it is odd). As I stuffed paper plates into the lunch bag, I smiled, then broke out laughing. “Look at what love is doing to me!” I said, much louder than a whisper, to myself, shook my head, and zipped up the bag. You came, and nothing mattered anymore.
Later that night, you cried…no, you wept. And as I watched the tears trickle down your face, wanting so badly to catch them before they fell down your chin, but seeing that I needed to let it all be raw, I thanked God for us.
That night, or was it the next? When I slept, I dreamt I was having a baby. I held her in my arms soon after pushing her into the world, and watched her work her mouth, thinking to myself: she looks like his mother, and feeling love for her, and for you overwhelm me. She was our baby. I was her Mama. It was a dream.
Today is Saturday, and I am in bed. You slept in the middle of our conversation, and I should forgive you, for I have been the culprit pretty much all week. So I lie here thinking of earlier, on the toilet seat, when I thought of you standing behind me, watching our reflection with me. It was a passing fantasy that left zero room for details.
I do not know when I will die. I have had many dress rehearsals; death defies rules. An old school mate of mine was buried today. That makes three, in 3 years. Only a few people plan for this. Maybe the last time I woke was this morning. I am so vain, I want to be at my own funeral, to nod and pat my back, for managing to have so many people genuinely heartbroken to lose me. It is only you I wouldn’t want to see. I wouldn’t want to gloat because of your pain. What am I saying? No, I do not want to die now, no. I am only saying, death…he/she defies rules.
I see that you’ve texted me. Oh, how I wish you were here with me. How I wish you’d walk over to me, before the mirror, wrap your arms around me and stare, at us, with me. How I wish it’d actually be…our baby…me, a Mama….us…together. Guess I’d have to live for that; for all the beautiful hints of purpose being beautifully woven. For the manifestation of them. For the final picture.
I should live…