metro card//MGG

15

some extra content bc last chapter was shorter than usual :)

if it weren't for the constant reminder of the holidays, I would lose track of time at home. I stay for four days, although it feels like much longer. my mother has insisted not to dwell on the news at all— she goes to the theater as usual, inviting me to come along. I decline each time.

I can't get over the fact that my father isn't here. somewhere down under, he's sitting in meetings and pretending to care about the woman he married. I wonder if she's a bit relieved not to see him, and vice versa. I remember when I was young and looking at my parents didn't quite register the same emotions it does now. some things only make sense after you've seen the other side of them.

I don't know if they still love each other; I know that they miss each other, and that when they're reunited, there's this rush of excitement that can be felt through the whole house. it dissolves by dinner, though, washed away by the reality of their relationship.

I think they stay away to bottle up that feeling, so that when they come together it spills out in this confluence of comfort and elation. you can only feel that high for so long before it loses its effect. and I would sit there, from the safety of the entryway staircase, watching all of it dredge up and ebb out. I remember feeling like overripe fruit around the age of fifteen. a softness between my ribs that gave a little more with each poke.

last night, my mother and I agreed it was best for me to return to New York in the morning. there's a tension that grows brittle in the house when I'm there. we would tear each other apart without a buffer. even with the current state of affairs, I can't help the way I feel.

and I miss Matthew. as much as I'd like to pretend that New York hasn't been on my mind, it has. I miss the smells of the streets, no matter how rancid they get, and the way it feels like I'm living in the bottom of a basin. I miss his apartment and Orion's tail curling around my wrist and the way Matthew makes me feel like the world is simultaneously crumbling and rebuilding itself. this year has been hard; he makes it more bearable.

I haven't spoken to him other than to keep him updated about work and to make sure he's still a functioning human. in reality, I don't think he really needs me around. he can handle his appointments and run his errands; I've always been the lessening of inconvenience for him. but he still offers to call if I need it. my heart squeezes when I say no.

all I want to do is talk to him. once I do, though, my guts will spill out all over the kitchen floor. it'll be messy and teary and he won't want anything to do with it. I'm too dramatic and I would prefer that he not know the reality of it.

when I wake up the morning of my flight, it's five am. my alarm isn't set to go off until seven, but somehow the stress of preparation has made my body stiff and alert. I sleep light these days and wake at the slightest sound.

there's no sun right now, just an overlay of clouds through which a gloomy light gently presses. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, blink myself into the world. my head is already full of things I need to do. I feel like I lost weeks of work in the time that I've been here. I missed shooting days, too, although I doubt much more would have gotten done had I been there. something in my gut is still tugging.

I throw my legs out of bed and wrap myself in a robe. without much consideration, I trudge downstairs, slip on my boots, and walk out the door. it's cold, but there's no wind to snap inconsiderately at my face. instead, I steel myself for the temperature and start down the sidewalk.

I'm not dressed for the occasion-- pajama pants, an oversized t-shirt, and a fuzzy pink bathrobe don't seem very practical-- but I don't feel discouraged. the familiar trees, barren and layered with snow, invite me further through the neighborhood. I recall the cracks in the pavement where their roots pushed up too far, step carefully over pools of ice that have accumulated. blue sidewalk salt is scattered over the slippery spots.