Published February 18, 2010

He should have been wearing a sign around his neck

A sign that read

CAUTION: Exposure to me may cause your IQ to drop

Below the threshold level of functional retardation.

Especially for someone like me—a stupid girl whose better judgment was ruled

By hormones that should have belonged

Rightfully

To a thirteen year old boy.

He had an aversion to zoos and sunshine

But mostly he hated penguins

Violently

Because of their flightless wings.

As if they chose the wings that wouldn’t let them fly on purpose.

That last night while he was sleeping, I leaned in to kiss his cheek

And when I missed and landed on air, I stupidly assumed—

With all the arrogance of someone who had never lost before—

That I would have a million other chances to get it right.

You’re not the first boy, I told him once,

Not the first to draw his fears

Into his arms.

I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself, I said when he didn’t answer.

He just arched an eyebrow and stared

Pointedly

At the lit cigarette between my fingers.

I traced the ‘o’ of hypocrite

Over and over

On the back of my teeth with my tongue

And didn’t bring it up again.

I never stopped hoping that he’d come back, but I stopped expecting it.

It’s tiring to have your expectations fall short every time the bell rings

Or when the stranger on the train next to you

Hums Copa Cabana off-key the way he always did.

He disappeared with a pocketful of good intentions

And all I am is a girl with a solid fear of spiders

And light bulbs

And no one to belong to when the days just won’t end.

Don’t ever say goodbye, I told him on a cold day in December

We were sitting in a café sipping cocktails from a coffee cups

My heart beat like a tambourine in my chest as I waited

For him to respond.

He tilted his head up just slightly

Enough so he could see me and still watch his pen draw

Stick figure people in compromising positions on paper napkins

And his lips pulled up into a tiny smile of agreement

Before he resumed his drawing.

The moment that it stops

Feels like coming inside after making snow angels for hours—

You’re numb until you begin to thaw

Your blood pumps so hard and so fast

It feels like it’s trying to break out of your skin—

And you hold onto yourself and you don’t move

Because maybe, you think, you can keep yourself together until it passes.

I trace his name over and over against the smooth, yellowing keys of his piano

I never play a single note

I just trace. And when I’m finished I lean down and press my lips

To the keys that his fingers used to flutter across

Desperately.

I kiss the fingertips that belonged to the boy with the cloudy eyes

Who spent a lifetime making up for his lack of height.