Tuesday, Mar. 26, 2019 @ 10:15 pm
Space. I need space, my insides expanding and all of the possibilities of the world becoming exciting rather than overwhelming. My wings, my softly feathered wings, tucked neatly behind me for so long. I tentatively unfurl these wieldy appendages, one at a time. Then beat them together and shake them out. Needing space to accommodate their full width, to allow them to spread wide enough for me to achieve flight.
I detour through open plazas. I devour these spaces, spread my arms out and turn around in circles and smile up at the sky. Sometimes, when I think I am alone, I dance.
I tell him to sell the second couch, the one that’s supposed to be mine; I have no interest in placing furniture in my living room. Not now, not yet. I need to bathe in the space, the emptiness.
Sunday morning. I have the house to myself, a rare moment. I am on the back deck and am pirouetting under the immense cedar tree that dominates the yard, spotting in the glass patio doors. Birds busy in the birdbath behind me. A squirrel with a magnolia blossom in its mouth. I pause in relevé, look left, and there is a grey-haired woman standing there watching me. The lady from down the block. I collapse onto flat feet and my arms fall to my sides, “Hi Helen.”
I cross the Olympic plaza at sunset. A light rain is falling, and the plaza is empty. The sky is turning navy, and the business towers are shiny and black and looming. Float planes lined up along the docks. I can’t help myself; all of this emotion and freedom and joy overflows from me. Rain falling on my face, my bare ankles. I love the rain. When it rains, everyone goes inside and the city is mine. I cast my umbrella aside and turn the plaza into a stage.
I download a dating app. I scroll through endless photos of men showing off their pecs, their sports cars, their previous hot girlfriends. I find one man that appears quietly confident, open his profile, and discover that he is an urban planner. His profession. I delete the dating app.