Ave Maria

snake

  The phone goes dead in my hand but a reluctant dead, no long tone to tell me she’s gone, forever, as if dropped from the edge of the map into an abyss I will never see. I wait for a while, in case she comes back, in case some strange force pulls her to pick up the receiver again and utter a confused “Hello?”. It doesn’t come. Eventually I too relinquish the connection, as tentative as it may be, and cup my face in my palms.

  It’s strange, the emotions that bubble up now. I would expect many but anger isn’t one I was prepared for. I take it out in silence, punching pillows and yelling muffled obscenities into my mattress. I don’t know why I’m angry but I am, I’m furious, furious I lost her, furious I was the one to let her go, furious at myself for doing it and at her for letting me do it.

  The others will come in time, I’m sure – the emotions, that is – but for now I simply pick myself up and dust myself off and begin my daily routine as if my world didn’t just shatter, still fragmenting in the rear view. Despite my decision being the thing to end it all I don’t feel in control at all. I want nothing more than to phone her up again and take it all back but I can’t, right? I must be strong… right? My reasons fall away fast into obscurity, paranoia sets in, and I berate myself aloud for losing commitment. Not so stead fast as I would wish to be. I think back to my Uncle. He had a way with loss and I wish I’d inherited it through the winding family tree but I don’t feel the indifference I long for.

  He had a snake once. Buddy. It was the snake that taught me snakes were awesome. Buddy was usually wrapped around some part of my uncle, this unflinching togetherness that they both shared. One day, out of the blue and unexpected, Buddy died. Three days later my Uncle had a new belt. Wrapping around him once more. I think back to my Uncle and wonder why I can’t just let go.

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~ by Joseph Blame on February 20, 2011.

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