Monday, April 8, 2013

The Living Room Scene


The chairs are lined up straight and touching, their seats making a runway. On her tip toes she resides in the very center of the first and as she lifts one foot her neck rolls back so her eyes can see the ceiling. Her arms bend and straighten to the sounds around her. She overlooks the skyline. It’s still subtle for now and all she feels are bends. But things will advance rapidly. Her neck moves back and forth harsh and fast while maintaining grace. Her wrists are twitching now and she cannot help but rub the palms of her hands over her forehead and neck. It’s repetitive and excessive but she cannot stop. And while the twitching in the beginning was more a dance of choice, it now refuses to subside. She fears her wrists will break. She’s standing on the floor now, spinning. The song playing reaches a part that keeps repeating itself and her body will not stop twirling in the middle of her living room. She feels she will throw up, and hopes she does because maybe whatever has crawled into her will finally come out. Then the song stops, and while the twirling stops her muscles convulse. This brings her to the ground and she is crouched, in her head now. She is slapping her palms together and wishes she could stop herself before she wakes the neighbors, but it is not possible. Her eyes are wide and all seeing. She sees her life and it’s crevices that led to this. The gaps in her being that are not desirable by others. These gaps are wider to her now, she can pour water into them and swim.  She crawls toward the wall and rests her cheek on the baseboard, lying on her back. Her arms turn into ribbons and she flies them in the air above her, performing for herself. And then something breaks. Something inside is broken and she is back in the middle of the floor heaving. She reverts back to her youth when tears were rivers and accompanied with screaming. She cannot stand. She curls up, tucks her knees into her chest, and rubs her cheek on the carpet whispering the things in her head she use to not say aloud. Here she will stay until morning. 

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