SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
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Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Thursday, Jun. 11, 2015 @ 9:47 am
Haunted/Low



Chris.

I'd decided in the new year to accept that Chris was not an option, to commit fully to my present situation, to affix blinders permanently to the sides of my face: this is my life.

I didn't email him, I didn't phone him, I didn't call him when he passed through town. I scheduled my summer holidays and did not include the week long hiking trip with Chris. I sat with a heavy heart, my hands limp, knowing that this decision was ultimately the best and most honourable thing to do. That I was stringing my own heart along and ignoring the person who has been my greatest blessing.

And then things change, and he's there in front of me, metaphorically speaking, rendering my blinders useless and ultimately focussing my eyes directly on what I was trying to avoid seeing: him.

He sent me an email two weeks ago - he accepted a position working for the city. Working 4 blocks from our house. Moved back immediately. His commute every day, cycling past my parents house to within 4 blocks of my own. The connectivity of his life and mine, always intertwined. He asked about the summer hiking trip, if I was still in.

I said no.

He haunts me.

In a dream, someone says to me He was always interested; you were always the one that he wanted. And then later I see him and place my hand on his shoulder, then he turns, and I move my hand up the back of his neck into his hair. And then he's kissing me and I can smell his hair and feel the lumps on his head, and it's all so real I that can't believe it's a dream.

I lay on the floor in hot yoga, the heat from the infrared panels pulling moisture from my skin. The mat is saturated beneath me, my body slick with sweat. I twist and turn, and see my gaunt chest in the mirror, ribs and collar bones glistening and delicate where the other girls are soft and curved.

I wake at 3am, the sheets soaked, my pyjamas clining to my body. I get up to change, throw my limp wet top into the laundry. The summer air cool against my skin, and I shiver.

In the morning I step on the scale. One hundered and thirty two point zero. A new low. I haven't weighed this little in sixteen years. I wonder if I'm slipping.

I cycle home from work at 9pm. Thirteen hours at the office, trying to push out a design by the deadline. The sun is setting the sky on fire.

I ride past city hall and wonder where he sits. Wonder how his first week went. Wonder if he thinks of me.

I said no.

Chris.

He haunts me.


Roots | Shoots