september 2016

new york, ny

the first time it happens, i pretend it doesn't. christ, it's so easy.

i collect myself, twisting my clothes back to their default positions, flattening my hair back against my scalp. i leave her to do the same. she's still tucked away in a public loo no bigger than a broom closet. there is a line of customers outside concerned with the level of illness happening behind that door. as i leave, i reassure them she'll be fine- just a bit too much to drink, a wonky tummy is all.

i'm confident she understands it's nothing personal. it's that unspoken best mate language we have that does the heavy lifting for me.

i can't tell what she's thinking today, but beneath the confusion in her eyes, i convince myself she's completely fine. the gaping hole at the bottom of my stomach knows i'm not telling the truth, but since when have i ever been honest with myself?

i've become the very thing that she hates.
i wonder if she hates how much she wanted me.

december 2017

new york, ny

it's christmas and my limp body is draped across my mother-in-law's couch. vi is wasted off expensive wine and she's somewhere in the kitchen talking politics with her cunt brother. i'm sloshed off a few holiday concoctions i've made for myself. my back is glued to the velvet cushions of a designer couch i shouldn't have my bare bunions rubbing up against and i'm mindlessly picking at the thread of some hermès pillow case that probably costs more than i make in a bloody week.

no one seems to care about anyone but themselves, so no one notices when i duck away onto the balcony of the andersson's upper east side penthouse. don't do it i plead with myself. both me and my conscience know i'm going to. so i do.

"happy christmas!" too joyful. she knows i'm full of shite, that i'm full of booze.

her voice sounds tired, like perhaps i'd woken her up.

what time is it?

things go from 0 to 100 in one breath.
i am full of shite, i am full of booze.

"they're opening a new hotel in boston and we're moving, luv. taken over a new spot, funneled an easy million or four into it. you know how it goes, joey."

from the way my voice slips seductively through the phone, you'd never know i was on the edge of a breakdown. i don't cry easily, but when i do, it's earth shattering.

when i do cry, it comes from the deepest corner of my chest. dark, heavy. my mouth locks open and i lose control of my features. i heave, i moan. wounded, shot in the chest like a game bird.

suddenly i'm crying so much that the phone is dripping in snot and tears.

jo is quiet for a moment, but she tries to coddle me. her patience is so fucking aggravating sometimes.

"why aren't you bloody crying?!" i shout at her from the other end of the line. my tone is sharp and pokes through the shoddy connection. "i'm leaving, jo. what are you going to do?!"

what was she going to do? i suddenly realize i'm projecting and i've been hit. the thought of being without her clips my wing and i'm spiraling towards the concrete.

february 2018

Boston, MA.

it's my first birthday without her in a long time.

i'm separated.

i'm waiting for the final signatures to release vi and i from our co-imprisonment, yet she's the last person i miss today. i act like it's such a celebration for myself, the divorce, but i can't begin to imagine how liberated vi feels.

it's a step, acknowledging what i've done,
the hurt i've caused, but
it doesn't censor my desires,
my feral needs.

i'm alone right now, twisting my wedding band. i know i should remove it, but something about it feels safe. the ugly familiarity, the way it holds onto the skin of my finger for dear life. an anchor holding me down, like my life hasn't completely floated into the sky and exploded into a billion little pieces.

i pick up the phone and i fight with myself. don't call her.

"jo?"

voicemail. i don't know if i'm devastated or relieved. i hang up quickly. no message, just my name haunting her missed calls.

five minutes go by and i call again. this time i'm prepared-- or something close.

"hi, it's me. just checking in. with you. hope you're staying warm today- weather is shite."

a pause.

"christ, i'm talking about the weather. just call me back, ey? love you. bye."

when i hang up, i feel sick. i miss her voice. her obnoxious reassurance, her deathly contagious optimism. i miss the piles of freckles on her nose, that weird sort of floppy way she ties her hair on top of her head in the morning to brush her teeth. her smirk when she steals my cigarette, her smile when we hug goodnight. i miss my best friend more than anything in the world.

i can't spend my evening alone tonight, i can't sit in my grief (i never quite can). so instead, i'll go to the closest pub and find a body to remind me of hers.