Stop Calling Me

There are moments that are frozen in time. The clumsiness of a first kiss; lips smushed together, saliva and inexperience waltzing to the tune of a song my mother used to sing. The theatrics are over in a millisecond, but every square inch of that moment is committed to memory.

That’s what makes moments like these so difficult. How am I supposed to commit this moment to memory when I can’t see your face. Can’t imagine the curve of your lips telling me the words. What does that moment look like?

“It’s all true.” Your voice rings cold and final even through all those miles through the telephone cord. I wish I could run and hide. Detach myself from the phone and pack my things up and flee. I can’t even imagine how it will all look in my mind because I already know.

It’s all white, and I feel the world around me disappear. It’s just me, and the pain, and your words like nails across a chalkboard in this snowy white hellscape. I can’t manage words because you’re drowning everything. Filling up every thinking space I have in my head. Taunting me and torturing me with the things you do behind my back. I’m begging you to stop and release me from this cage. I promise to throw away the key to this lock and never speak of this again; but let me know it’s not true.

Give me the sweetest lie you can muster. Bake it into a velvet cake and serve it to me with frosting and sprinkles. Plate it for me so I can eat it up with porcelain cutlery and dance to the clinking of the ceramic. Make it easy for me. Lead me on just a little longer, fatten me up and let’s play make believe. You can be the king and I’ll be your princess. We’ll frolic and pretend that everything is okay. 

And then the phone clicks and I can no longer hear your breathing on the other end. It’s just me in this bright white room, and the bitter ugly truth that you really did launder all that money from the mob.