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| ode to angela she wheeled the chair slowly away from the blank computer screen. lurking beneath the shallow glaze on her eyes was a passion. a fiery darkness. an anger. a hatred. she feels worthless. she does not know what to do. she picks up the phone. she checks the answering machine one more time. she checked it five minutes ago, but then she went to the washroom. maybe she'd missed the call. she checks her watch again. she glances at the phone. she writes a short note to Tanya. she says she wants to see her again. she says she misses her. she knows her friend will be happy to see her. she knows her arrival will be late, but expected. she worries. she hates to be left alone like this. she checks the answering machine once again. nothing. she washes the dishes. she wipes down the counters. she turns down the sheets on the bed in her room. she wants us to trust in her. she wants us to believe in her. she wants us to follow her. she wants us to take after her because she thinks that we do not matter. she thinks it would not make a difference. she lights a soft candle. she puts her fingerprint in the bubble gum wax. she preserves her memory. she does not know why. she watches the fire. she knows it will do her no good this night. she walks to the phone one last time. she prays for the ring. she knows it will not come. she is alone. the house remains silent. the stars glare at her accusingly, so she closes the blinds. she blows a kiss to the sky. she walks into the kitchen one last time. she picks up the phone. she bids goodbye. the police run in. they are too late. she is gone. they check her pulse. she has forbidden them to come any closer. she has kissed loss goodbye. she has run from everything that was chasing her. they chased her until she died. the phone beeped angrily. it burst into static. she does not hear it. they do not understand. they look at her arms in wonderment and disgust. they look at her legs. they look at her arms again. they are blood spattered. congealed, and scabbed. like jelly and dried paint. she is blistered. her concealer is lying open on the ceramic floor. she decided not to fake anymore. there were no tears in her eyes. they take her away. they try to convince her not to. she hates them. she says hello to tanya once again. they embrace. they are shrouded in fog. they dress her in red.. they lay her down on silk and satin and crushed velvet. they paint her face. they use the concealer she shoved away. she was wearing a dress she would never have worn on her own. all dressed up with no where she can go. this is a special occasion. she exiled us. she fled to a world of blood pooling in extremities and Too Big Tongues and stretched telephone cords and missing pieces. and the embalmer could not force the smile off her face. |
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