The Granddaughter

  “Will you tell me again why I’m dead? For the last time I promise” she lied. The nameless child glided excitedly towards my weak body from the corner of the room. I never gave her a name, it never felt right. I am filled with warmth as she settles on the end of my bed careful not to squish my cold feet. She is the most beautiful girl the world will never see. The type of person that makes you wish you could paint because a photo just isn’t enough medium to capture it all. Smooth light brown skin and black sparkly eyes that can read your mind. It is no wonder that when she smiles you spill your guts to her however good or bad your thoughts, however pathetic your life. Her hair an alluring dark brunette shade that can be called black until it is touched by the suns golden fingers and combed into copper locs. At shoulder length the twisted silk drapes down her neck and makes her face pop out like a puppy in a shoe box. If only she could leave this room. “Pleeeeaaasssee” she persists, I had almost forgotten she had said anything. I am a cruel woman I know.

 “Because I killed you.”

***

The weight of a fluffy sleeping black poodle. 2 Lbs. of warm unconsciousness is the only thing keeping my heart in my chest right now. I wonder if Zuko knows this. He seems to be oblivious to anything but food and belly rubs yet when I find it most difficult to breathe, he always seems to be there, or rather here, crushing the anxiety trying to claw out from under my ribs. I can’t take any more of this.

I go gym and revise. I sleep (barley) and drink. I make music and chat with the boys. I do anything but think about the future. I can’t predict it so why should I bother stressing over it ?  It is what it will be and I’m sure it will all be fine. If not, well I can’t help that either so, we move.

I feel guilty and deceptive about the disgusting secret I harbor or more honestly nurture. I wake up and feed it and cannot rest until I lull it to sleep fist. I take time to entertain it and even protect it from others wicked truths. I hate myself for lying constantly. I hate the invisible distance it creates in an already spacious relationship.

She is a perfect song; layered, assertive yet vague, unpredictable, progressive, genre and time bending. I could listen to her forever and learn something new every play unable to fully absorbed her completely as she multiplies in the depths of my mind. It is impossible not to be a slave to her high energy and irrational emotions. I know she would have my head for calling her irrational but it’s true init and I love her temper anyways. It’s like the sun waking me up after dozing off unintentionally, hot beams focused on my closed eyes direct yet gentle heat. Even with all this hot passion I can’t help but feel myself freeze in her presence. I am grateful for the physical distance most times.

It looms like darkness not nighttime but sinister darkness when I think about our future. There is simply no way that this ends well. I don’t have the strength to end it before tragedy which is why I need to experience the inevitable pain. Then I can finally be free of hope once and for all. There is nothing worse than knowing you don’t believe in something but tying to for another’s sake. He makes me wish I could be happy like this forever despite me knowing better. He doesn’t care to see what’s just ahead of him and probably mistakes my mood swings for signs of life when in reality they are hollow movements. Phantom limbs left over from the last time I made similar mistakes.

When she talks about making plans and what’s next, I listen and hope she never stops yapping. Once there’s a pause it means it’s my turn and I don’t have much of nothing to say of value to her. It’s not that I don’t have anything to add it’s that I know in the end I will do whatever she wants, go wherever she feels. Course I can’t let her know this and think I’m some toe sucking yes man. Don’t get me wrong I would suck them toes if she asked and they were clean and all, but I know she won’t respect me if I tell her whatever she says goes. Females act like they don’t want a take charge tell you what to do manly man, but once you give em space to make a decision suddenly you’re “lazy” or “indifferent”. It drives me mad.

I remember how we first met. A penis to the back in classic 2019 greeting fashion. Standing at 5’4 against his 6’5 I am only half exaggerating. The club was dark and filled with Japanese nationals shouting the ‘N word’ along with other lyrics they didn’t understand. After almost a year in Japan I was used to this and only slightly enraged at the drunk people around me. The sea of bodies parted around us as he stood tall and black as shadow in front of me introducing himself with words finally. I knew he was the one after he began drunkenly confessing how he was falling in love with me right then and there. It wasn’t the statement that made me aware of this fact but his eyes and tiny half grin that ate up the dry humor and wit that followed in response. He looked hypnotized and I felt seen.

 It’s ridiculous to think I’m the reason we are even together and now I’m decisional baggage. From Trekking across Osaka on an expired railroad pass for a second chance encounter that somehow ended in a tearful goodbye where I said I love you to a woman I’d only known for two collective days, and who didn’t respond until I was half way up the road, to a quiet passenger on a chaotic pursuit of togetherness. I was a romantic male lead marching right up to her in a crowded room and now I’m just an extra. I don’t wanna sound wet, but I have never met anyone like her before and it’s made me question everything I do and say to the point where I don’t do much of either. Still, it has to be obvious how much she means to me, why else would I fly 23 hours to Japan for a painfully short four of five days every four months? I’m most likely going to flunk out of my masters because of this. Good thing she doesn’t mind being the bread winner, god she is so powerful.

I see it behind his eyes when he stares too long at my face before responding to me. I hear it in his voice when he uses my name in a tone that makes me feel proud and bashful at the same time. It’s always there within him but it’s not mine yet. He won’t let it spill over me for some reason and that makes me fearful of why that is. I don’t need a grand gesture just honest and clear words. This is what I keep from him and these worries get sharper every day.

I should FaceTime her more. I know she thinks I’m going to somehow lose interest if I can’t see let alone touch her but that’s ridiculous. I know we’re going to make it through this long distance because I know I would drop anything in the world on gods head for her. I care for her too much and I don’t want to smother her before we’re even really together, a girl as stunning as her must be tired of all that. I always respond best I can to her messages and that’s more than what I’ve been known for in the past. I have to trust that she trusts my intentions and emotions. I mean I did say I love you first, she even chats shit about me saying that the first night we met in the club like some wet dark-skinned Drake wannabe. I know I get a bit emotional when I drink so perhaps it is true and if that’s the case, I really do have to be careful of overdoing it and sounding cheesy. She will forever be the one that got away without question if I run her off.

The next time I saw him he wasn’t alone. He had unknowingly brought them. Our children and theirs and so on for generations. He was smiling like everything was perfect and the white of his teeth almost made me see the light I had just stomped out. Before he could speak and drag this out anymore, I struck. First, I took out the babies and the young ones and then I moved for my own adult children. I sliced throats and ripped out heart all with my bare hands. There was screaming and tears, but he stood there just watched making it all the more traumatic. I did this for the both of us. I set us free before there was nothing left. I was strong that day and loved him more than he could ever imagine.

It came with no warning. She wasn’t herself. I forgave her as she spoke and waited for her to calm down. She never did. She was just scared like me. I wanted to contain her somehow to tell her to stop, but I couldn’t move. In the end I was alone in a bloody mess. How did this happen?

I missed one you see. She slipped through the confusion of the moment. I was venerable and too tired to make her go away and instead let her follow me. I ignored her the best I could but soon she had stolen my heart and I was obsessed with her, so much so I let her believe she had once lived. I admitted to my heinous violence in old age, but I couldn’t let her know I had robber her of life entirely.

I never moved on. I dated others and eventually married with children, but as I had anticipated she was the one that got away. It took years to come to terms with this. I look back on that time and feel regret close to death. I let her leave without a fight because I didn’t understand my own insecurities and more importantly, I believed she didn’t have any.

I was impatient.                                                                                     

I was untrusting.

I was blind to love that was mine.

I was scared to give what was hers.

 I was doubtful. I was doubtful.