Laughing
Laughing
"I'm okay," I say, and smile. It feels so easy, rolled like a marble on my tongue. No sharp edges to catch, no unpleasant corners that bruise the fragile truce between us. I'm okay. I'm okay, yes, I'm okay.
I wonder what you see in my smile that relieves you of the guilt trembling behind your eyes. I'm pretty sure whatever it is, it's your mind creating it, not mine.
There are voices buzzing outside the locker room, overlaying your words, senseless conversation set to the background of your mouth forming each syllable. My mouth is starting to hurt from laughing. Or maybe, I've been grinding my teeth in my sleep again, and my jaw's stiff from the pressure. Scrape, scrape, scrape. I hope I don't look as lost as I feel.
More smiling. More pretending to talk, pretending to eat, pretending I'm not thinking about each breathe. In out, in out, in out. They say you can't forget to breathe. I'd like you to know they're liars.
Laughter. Yours, not mine. I must have said something funny. I can't remember saying anything at all. I glance at the ground, and I can't remember what color your eyes are. It doesn't scare me as much as it should. Not until I realize I can't remember what color my eyes are. That scares me. Blue. Blue? I think they're blue.
No, wait, that's you.
You're walking backwards, and my hand is moving shakily as you leave. Waving. I hold my palm up to you in submission and you look right through the scars trickling down my wrist. Through me.
Laughter. Mine.
But always in your voice.
"It's time to go." His voice breaks my laughter into little glass pieces. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I smile.
He doesn't smile. He wraps his arms around me and holds the pieces together.
And when I look at you, you aren't smiling, either.