He was here, and I was here.

He was in my bed almost as soon as he walked into my room, his black body like calligraphy on my big fluffy white comforter, and I didn’t have to think about it. My underwear was the lacey kind that was dark enough you couldn’t really see through it but it gave off an “I don’t care” attitude. I knew he liked that kind of thing. I like that kind of thing, too.

He was here, and I kissed him. He didn’t have to ask too many times.

I’ve known for a couple months about his eyes. His eyes, when I see him at school, take their time taking me in, running around my hips, my thighs, my neck, like a wrap-around porch. His arms framed my body like those beautiful porches, like a porch Scarlett O’Hara would have.

So I kissed him.

He palmed my head like a football. He ran his hands all over my hair, which was soft and red, and I felt his rough head, like a fern leaf, and it was unfamiliar. His hand was on my cheek, then it traced the line that keeps my body in order: my spine and where my legs start, then my legs, then he started to kiss my neck, and I ran my fingers around him like the vines of ivy that ran up my house when I was a little girl, and his hands were on both of my hips, and he was kissing my chest, everywhere, but he didn’t seem hungry, which I liked, which we both like.

And soon my hands, white, almost clear in the moonlight, were up and down his black abdomen like that ivy, slowly, peacefully scraping my fingernails over him like I knew everything about him already, which he liked, and I liked.

And soon I kissed his neck too, and while my nails made designs all over his arms, his legs, the blue walls around us and the ivy and the white porches stayed quiet and held us there in our places.

And he was never so old, or so young, or so happy, or so sad to me in that moment, when I looked into his black velvet eyes. I told him to hold me, and he did.

And he kissed my forehead and while we both sat up cross-legged on my bed he kissed my ear, my shoulders, my hair, with my legs wrapped around him, my arms like a medal around his neck, he scratched my back and held my body close to his.

He was here, but that’s no accomplishment.

He was here, he’s gone now, and I’m alone here in my blue heaven, and I checked my phone, and it’s three in the morning. But I’m here, and I don’t know if he’ll be here again. I think he likes that kind of thing. I don’t think I do.

My parent’s wedding anniversary was this Wednesday. Dad brought home a dozen roses on Monday. Mom didn’t thank him more than once, if any. I found that odd. Then Wednesday night, their anniversary, mom went to bed early. Dad stayed up later than usual. We were in the living room together at around 10:30. He stood up and walked towards his room. He lingered in the hallway, turned around, and talked to me for a little. Then he stood there. The thought crossed my mind: Does he want me to go upstairs so I don’t hear him making love to my mom? It was their anniversary, after all. But I knew. The twenty-six years-old fire was dead. It was like that sunflower that I planted that my dad accidentally sprayed with Round-Up. Lifeless.

A few days ago I saw my mom crying. She had been in her room for a while and it was very quiet. From a couple rooms over I could sense that something wasn’t okay. I don’t know how. So I walked into her room and said her name. I heard her voice say “Yeah?” coming from the bathroom. I said “Are you okay?” She said, “Yeah,” again. But I knew. So I walked to the door and said to the crack between the door and its frame, “Are you sure?” And she said, “I’ll be fine.” So I walked into the bathroom and found my sweet mother standing in her shower clutching a towel to her body, crying. I said, “You can’t hide from me.” And I stepped into her shower and held her close.

I rubbed her naked back, still wet from her shower, and swayed with her while she cried. I kissed her on the cheek twice. I thought it was something that I had said to her earlier that had made her sad, so I apologized. And she said “It’s fine, it’s fine.” I actually don’t know what made her cry. I said “I know, I know.”

And so today what I found when I was bringing mom’s laundry to her room didn’t shock me very much. I set the clothes on her bed and my eyes fell on her nightstand. There, right out in the open, a list with the big words PROS and CONS sat, waiting for my attention. And I knew then.

It was the pros and cons of divorce for my parents. Funny, it seems like something she would have at least tried to hide in her sock drawer.

I’m nineteen years old, I thought. Divorce is common, I thought. Holy shit, am I breathing right now? I thought. I walked around my house and cursed softly so my little brother wouldn’t hear. I went to my bed and knelt down and prayed a little. I cried a little. I texted my best friend whose parents have been divorced for fifteen years and told her everything, and she talked me through. I texted my boyfriend what was happening.

And then I felt fine. Getting a divorce was, all in all, a good plan for them. They’d been unhappy since I can remember. I’ve never seen them kiss on the mouth for more than a moment. Really, I knew it all along. I knew it for months.

So then I listened to Nina Simone’s “Everything Must Change” a few times. She gets it. If they do get divorced, that’s what I’ll play as I ride away from this big house in the U-haul, a montage of family photos and old home videos playing in the background. It will be very dramatic, just go listen to the song.

But I’m heartbroken. I can visualize my dad trying to please my mom by buying her what she wants, their early days, before they were married, of spending all day together and loving it. Then she wanted a big house on our land in the country. That didn’t happen, so they bought this house I’m sitting in right now. It’s beautiful. But it’s not my mother’s dream home. And come to find out, dad is not my mother’s dream man.

I can see momma thinking of something new to do like she always used to: a new business idea, a new way of organizing something at church, a diet or asking to go out for ice cream. And dad saying, “That’s ridiculous, Shelley.”

I can see momma crying by herself for how many years? I can’t know. I know they didn’t mean to hurt each other at first. But now they do. Their words are calculated to hurt. On Monday mom decided that she and dad were going to Chicago to see my big sister, Lauren. And then she said, “Finally, I’ll have something fun to look forward to!” in front of dad. After he had brought her roses for their anniversary, which was on Wednesday. I don’t know why she wants to hurt him, maybe to get back at him for the years she’s felt trapped. All I know is, the top of her pros list says:

1. stop living a lie

2. freedom

And so I can only assume the lie is that she loves my father and the freedom that she wants is a separate, insulated life away from him.

This morning

I woke up

and

I didn’t think of you.

I started to

Do some other things, I don’t remember

But then Emily

Opened the wide white blinds on our

Big rectangle window

And the sunshine

That’s what reminded me of

You, the Saturday mornings when

     you would have us do housework

You wore slippers and

     you turned on the CD player

You told us to

     sweep the kitchen.

This morning

I didn’t think

I was thinking of you.

My friends ask me about my mom

I smile

     I tell them

          you can sing beautifully.

This morning

I opened a yellow can

Of syrup and peaches

I stabbed them with a fork

For breakfast

I told Em

You would sometimes eat peaches

     With cottage cheese for breakfast.

Last night I wore

that turquoise necklace

It was yours and I took it

I looked in my closet this morning

I saw dresses you have brought me over the semester

That I have not worn

     once, silly mom,

I only wear what you don’t want me to wear

     like that turquoise necklace

I hope you don’t miss it;

I’ll be home soon to give it back.

This morning I didn’t think

I was thinking

Of you.

Tonight he told me,

“I really wanted to meet your mom last night!”

I breathed a moment of being much too hopeful

     About what that comment could imply

But I drummed up a response

     About how you had to go home

It was a late night

     He had friends he was talking to and I

     Didn’t want to interrupt him

How was I supposed to know he wanted to meet you?

But what I said was,

     “I wanted you to meet her too!”

Because I did.

     In fact

I was looking for him

So that I could introduce him

     to you

Because I like you:

Your voice

     Your white teeth when you smile

          Your eyes when you talk to people

I think you’re graceful and beautiful

I don’t think I’ve ever really told you that.

I know we look alike

But I can’t tell how much

I’m too used to my face

          And your face

To compare them.

And every time

I hear

a Rogers & Hammerstein song

I hear you singing along with it

This morning I didn’t think I was thinking of you.

HSapphireH