Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #22

Coffee is what I need. It'll seep into me and erase the bags under my eyes (I'm not sleeping now, after weeks of being too lethargic to get out of bed. I can't decide which I like less) and warm me up from the inside. This is what I pin my hopes on: a cup of coffee and a head full of memory.

So, again, I am in a coffee shop. I pay my three and a half bucks to sit here for three and a half hours with my thoughts and the warm lighting.

Those...those dark, desperate things I was feeling— I'm not sure I feel them anymore. All I feel is lost. I'm spiraling into myself, I know. But I don't know how to carry on. I keep reliving and rewinding; my life is a remembrance. Should it be? I can't imagine moving forward, always away. Away and away and away.

I'd laugh if everything didn't hurt so bad. The past hurts and away hurts.

So, remembrance. Memories upon memories. They sit inside each other like those Russian nesting dolls. As soon as I open one, the next appears, until I work my way to the dark, empty center. I have a hard time with them. Holding them. Because until I get to the nothingness, they burn so fiercely, so brightly.

And that's everything: bright until it's not.

Brightness. We can work with that. No shadows creeping in (swallowing me, drowning me) until we give them that power.

Brightness. Yes.

Your motorcycle glints, like mercury or a knife. Something bright and dangerous. A comet.

Your mom purses her lips as she hands you your helmet, and your arm snakes around her shoulder, drawing her into a tight hug. "Thank you."

She hates the bike, and it took a month before she finally caved and it was loaded into dad's truck bed and delivered on this spectacular morning. (It is, too. Your bike, yes, but also the songbirds and blue of the sky and the way the trees filter the light and the crispness of fall (it calls to mind stark skies and thick sweaters and the roar of football games.) All in all, spectacular.) 

"Be careful, okay?" The corners of her lips draw down and the crows' feet framing her eyes are more pronounced than usual.

"I always am."

She laughs, a lilting, tinkling thing. "To be honest, I'm more worried about what other drivers will do. But you still need to be careful."

She pecks you on the cheek and a wave of warmth floods through your chest. She drives you a bit crazy, your mom, but you can't stop the surge of affection. Maybe that's how it is with family.

"I promise." You can't contain your glee and your face splits into a grin when your dad hands over the keys.

"No accidents, you hear?"

You give him a mock salute. "Yessir."

A laugh. "Come here, kiddo." He wraps you into a quick embrace. "Listen to your mom, and be careful. You know she worries."

Releasing you from his hold, your dad eyes you. "Study hard and stay in school."

"Will do." You fight the urge to salute him again.

The goodbye is short, in a way Minnesota goodbyes never are. Again, you are left behind and again, with a little more freedom than before your parents left.

This, you catch yourself thinking, is a good day.