Today's writing

When I was six, I fell into the community pool. It wasn’t anything overly dramatic; it was simply the fact that one minute I was upright and dry and the next I was waterlogged and flailing. It took maybe a minute if not seconds, but in that time I could feel the importance of my life press upon my shoulders, like I had important things waiting in my future. What I didn’t realize was that I was so close to drowning I could taste, touch, smell, see it. Feel it. Understand it, in that way of a child. By the time I broke through that glassy surface something inside me had changed, an incontrovertible switch I would only truly understand right fucking now.

 

I should have known it was going to be weird. I mean, how could it not be? It’s a constant series of calculations, of checking in, making sure everyone’s feeling included because it would be impolite to leave someone out of the equation. It feels like walking down the street with your head continually turned, just in case.

 

Still, I manage to come several times. I mean, that’s just good manners.

 

“Jesus,” Danny says, trying a little too hard, “why haven’t we done this before?”

 

He’s trying to put one arm around each of us and neither of us is having it. It’s like she and I are in sync, and he’s just fallen behind a little bit. My poor little drummer boy. I couldn’t even tell you why I don’t want him to touch me.

 

Then again, maybe I can.

 

It’s not because of anything that took place in this weird triad we called sex, not because he cheated on me with Tabitha before we threw ourselves into this nonsensical void. It’s something that started before her, before this place, maybe even before his mother passed away.

 

It’s something called misguided love. And as I lie here with my ass pushed against the scratchy carpet of Guest House, I realize that we suffer from it. Now, realizing something means close to nothing if you don’t know what to do, but it’s at least a start. If you can name it, you can do something about it.

 

Right?