The Escape and Settle Into Nothing
8:00 a.m. 118 Gillman. Washington, Illinois. Tuesday, August 28, 2001.
Sarah didn't answer, but her voicemail picked up and I smile as I light my cigarette and cradle the phone between my cheek and shoulder. I love her voice. It is the same voice it's been to me for thirteen years. For all I know, at the other end of the line, there could be a little 9 year old girl speaking. In a leotard with long, blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail with no bangs, and wide blue eyes sparkling when her lips move and the bump at the top of her upper lip slips across her teeth.
I decide not to leave a message and hang up, setting the phone back on the porch next to me. My eyes squint at the bright, warm, yellow sky in front of me and I try to think of someone else I know who would be awake this early. After a few minutes, I put out my cigarette and decide to call Hattie, even though she wouldn't be awake.
She answers with morning thick in her voice, and I can picture her with her hair ruffled and sleep in her eyes. She asks if I am okay, and my voice cracks as I reply "No." We begin talking and everything she says allows me to sort out my thoughts and see them more clearly. The tears I sensed moments before are gone and in a matter of seconds, she talks me down.
I light another cigarette and silently tell myself it's the last one this morning. Hattie tells me that I am doing something with my life, reminds me of what that is, and suggests I put a sign on the refrigerator to avoid guzzling so many beers when I want to escape things. I like the idea of a sign on my frigerator. I make signs all of the time and hang them all over the place. The sign above my desk reads, "Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." I always forget to read it.
After talking to Hattie, Aaron calls me back and I talk to him for a little while. By then I am lying on the couch with my blanky soft against my cheek, and I'm mindlessly changing channels on the TV. I feel better, but I am starting to feel numb. The channels flash in front of me and the numbers read higher and higher, until 99 when they start all over again. Aaron's train arrives to take him to work so we hang up, and I slowly roll off the couch and head toward the bathroom. Somewhere in that fraction of a second, I realized I could take a shower.
When I reach the bathroom, I keep the light off and leave the door open to let in the sunlight reaching down the hallway. I move in slow motion, trying to focus on each thing I have to take off; my t-shirt, bra, jeans, underwear, glasses, rings. Slowly they all drop to the floor until I'm standing naked, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I think it's really interesting that every time I stand in front of a mirror, my eyes immediately go to the same place first. They go straight to my waistline, and they rest there for several seconds before pulling back and taking in the whole picture. After the whole picture, they always find my eyes staring back at me, and often, dark circles underneath them.
I pull the shower curtain back and turn the water on, touching it to sense the temperature as I step in the bathtub. As soon as it starts to feel too hot and I pull my hand back, I turn the shower on. Out of the habit that has been with me as long as I can remember, as far back as my melancholy goes, I fold over and drop to the bottom of the tub. My knees pull up against one side of the tub and my back rests against the other, while the water comes rushing down over me.
I briefly wonder if other people do this in their showers and then relax a little more, letting my shoulders drop. I feel small and covered in warmth, like I am a child again. I close my eyes and listen to the water as it pelts on my side and back, letting my mind fade in and out until I am thinking nothing. It is here that I escape and settle into nothing.
