i’m not here.
Posted on | August 25, 2009 | 1 Comment
i float through my days, feet never touching the ground. i float down my street, across the town and in my apartment where the ceilings are high, i float way up to the top.
and i’m touching everything with rubber gloves so i don’t leave a trace – because i’m not really here.
i’m in 1988 playing scrabble with my father. 1989: raking up leaves on that interminably long driveway and my father is shaking his head at me while i am screaming about caterpillars, which truly frighten me. i’m in the garage in 1997: sitting in the front seat of the jetta, which itself sits on blocks, as my father takes apart the struts and shocks and puts them back together again from memory, only to realize he forgot a piece, so takes them back apart and puts them back together again, a second time.
i’m in 2007: a few months before he died, cutting and laying stick-on linoleum tiles with him in the tanning salon while visiting from florida. i am coming up with a good solution for fitting the angled end pieces, and i think he is proud of me for it. we always bonded over problem-solving. that, and our dry sense of humor… mostly enhanced by my mother’s theatrical tendencies (which i also inherited, much to my chagrin.) but we had the common sense and the sarcasm to ourselves.
it was hard for him to watch me grow up. it was hard for me to watch him grow old.
so i’m not really here. i’m floating. i’ll be back soon, but i just can’t tear myself away.
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August 26th, 2009 @ 3:17 pm
Why are you my favorite artist!?