Comments telling me to burn in hell not welcome.
Wrote this last year, October 15, 2004.
He asks me what kind of music would she be listening to, at a year and something old. I say Armeninan opera. He says something I've got here. I say Neutral Milk Hotel. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I listened to that in Wales. Okay, he says. You listen to that and I'll listen to On Avery Island, so she can hear both, okay?
Okay. And I ask myself, what do I remember, what do I see.
I see a white door and I want to paint it red. The red door at the Crombie Street apartment, it looked SO WRONG when they painted it white. It's supposed to be red with a white trim nd a white A on it. It's white now but it's supposed to be red.
The walls were red too, though not in his room. His room was gray, the mattress we slept and ate and read and made love on in the center of that hardwood floor. I see myself wearing his shirt, long button-up tan boy shirt. I see myself wearing only that shirt, his hand lightly traveling up my bare thigh. My skin warms. I see him smoking a cigarette on the front porch, gray smoke shaping the words I love you.
I remember the first nausea. His roommate, pregnant herself, I hear her say to him It's Morning Sickness. We say shut up but then I'm vomiting again. The sides of my stomach bang together.
Some day later we get tempura at Koto's and discuss what should we do if. If. If. If. Then we get the test done and it's not an if, it's a now, a when, the present, not what should we do if but WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO DO?
It's my choice. It was my choice. Now what. Now what. I don't know if she's buried or thrown into a dumpster somewhere with all the other fetuses (fetii?)
What do I remember? What do I see? I see a girl I bled out of me. It would have been a girl, he and I agree on that. Tall girl with light brown hair and his blue eyes. Blue eyes aren't dominant genetically but fuck genetics, this sure as shit ain't tenth grade biology this is blood this is my child clinging to me in the form of huge clots of blood, the piece of myself that I ripped out and gave to Fate saying Here. Take it. I don't want it. And Fate did. I gave away my only child in order to live the life I want. Here. Take it. And Fate did, and the blood still clings to my hands and drips down my thighs where he touched me that night oh god so long ago, two years two fucking years. And I will never sing her to sleep with off-key Neutral Milk Hotel. Never a first step. Never a midnight visit from the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus or or or any of that shit.
Never.
Not for her. Not for my missing piece.
And my god, I never thought
I would miss someone
I had never seen
so much.
And Jeff Mangum sings I want to put white roses in her eyes...rings of flowers round her eyes and I love you.
He asks me what kind of music would she be listening to, at a year and something old. I say Armeninan opera. He says something I've got here. I say Neutral Milk Hotel. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I listened to that in Wales. Okay, he says. You listen to that and I'll listen to On Avery Island, so she can hear both, okay?
Okay. And I ask myself, what do I remember, what do I see.
I see a white door and I want to paint it red. The red door at the Crombie Street apartment, it looked SO WRONG when they painted it white. It's supposed to be red with a white trim nd a white A on it. It's white now but it's supposed to be red.
The walls were red too, though not in his room. His room was gray, the mattress we slept and ate and read and made love on in the center of that hardwood floor. I see myself wearing his shirt, long button-up tan boy shirt. I see myself wearing only that shirt, his hand lightly traveling up my bare thigh. My skin warms. I see him smoking a cigarette on the front porch, gray smoke shaping the words I love you.
I remember the first nausea. His roommate, pregnant herself, I hear her say to him It's Morning Sickness. We say shut up but then I'm vomiting again. The sides of my stomach bang together.
Some day later we get tempura at Koto's and discuss what should we do if. If. If. If. Then we get the test done and it's not an if, it's a now, a when, the present, not what should we do if but WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO DO?
It's my choice. It was my choice. Now what. Now what. I don't know if she's buried or thrown into a dumpster somewhere with all the other fetuses (fetii?)
What do I remember? What do I see? I see a girl I bled out of me. It would have been a girl, he and I agree on that. Tall girl with light brown hair and his blue eyes. Blue eyes aren't dominant genetically but fuck genetics, this sure as shit ain't tenth grade biology this is blood this is my child clinging to me in the form of huge clots of blood, the piece of myself that I ripped out and gave to Fate saying Here. Take it. I don't want it. And Fate did. I gave away my only child in order to live the life I want. Here. Take it. And Fate did, and the blood still clings to my hands and drips down my thighs where he touched me that night oh god so long ago, two years two fucking years. And I will never sing her to sleep with off-key Neutral Milk Hotel. Never a first step. Never a midnight visit from the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus or or or any of that shit.
Never.
Not for her. Not for my missing piece.
And my god, I never thought
I would miss someone
I had never seen
so much.
And Jeff Mangum sings I want to put white roses in her eyes...rings of flowers round her eyes and I love you.