Words

My fingers shake as Tom’s words fill my mind.

“Why are you doing this to us?” He asks me, his normally soft voice growing harsh. The buzzing from the overhead lights fills my ears as they bleach the color from his skin. Every part of my being wants him to take me in his arms, to soothe me, but his arms are crossed, and his expression is guarded. My eyes plead with him. My palms press together. Tears fill my throat, but I fight them furiously.

“I — I…” I try to speak, to explain myself, but the words refuse to come. The words that used to come so easily finally fail me. Just like he said they would. 

I watch, mute as he turns away from me. Each step thunders in my ears until I cannot take it anymore. The sob building in my throat escapes with a fury that brings me to my knees. My fingers tear at the ground that I have collapsed into. 

“Tom!” I whimper, feeling the moisture on my face grow. I wipe at it angrily, half expecting to find blood on my skin as I pull away. 

Cold brushes against my skin as I open my eyes. My fingers still hover over the keyboard, waiting to take me away. To let the words that I lost that day free me. The white light from the computer screen makes my eyes ache. I leave it open. I know, in my heart, that the only way to let go is to go in deeper. 

Wheels scrape against the linoleum floor as I push out the chair I’m sitting in. My feet sweat through my plush socks, but I don’t bother to remove them. I don’t bother to do much of anything anymore. I don’t bother to get dressed or put on make-up, leave the house, or even speak. I have tried, but the words, always the words, they refuse to come out. They fight against me and win. Every time. 

I can taste the dust in the air when I reach the bookshelf. The smell I grew to love as a child. The scent of paper dreams. It tickles my nose as I lean in, searching for a title. Not of a book of words, but memories. 

The photos stick to my fingers as I peel open the pages. The spine crinkles and snaps but I keep looking until I find it.

His hair glistens in the golden light of the room. Fingers pressed musingly against his lips he reads the words that poured from me. I watch anxiously as his brow is pulled tight and is released with a smile. Carefully setting aside the paper, he glances up at me and begins to write. There were countless days like this. When the words were too overpowering to say aloud. The teacher’s voice droned relentlessly in our ears, but we already knew what they were saying. The other kids in the class were too busy making crude jokes and laughing to notice what we were silently saying. 

His pencil keeps scratching. I know the words feel the same to both of us — like a mysterious force that we can attempt to tame, but we know we can never tap into the full potential. Sometimes we are content with that. Sometimes the frustration of it eats at us for days. The words are our lives, and we love it. Tom says that words can only take you so far, that at one point you will always need more. But I do not want more. I know words. They know me. They can mean everything and nothing at the same time. 

I look up at Tom again. He is nearing the end of the page when he hands it back to me.

I continue to flip through the pages, stopping momentarily on another picture. Tears scald my eyes as I look at it, but the memory itself still makes me smile. 

“3, 2, 1, smile!” The reflective sheen of the camera lens is bright in the mid-afternoon light. The edges of the sign I’m holding feel fragile in my fingers as I beam. Tom’s arm is wrapped around my waist, and the white dress brushes my skin. The vows we made echo in my mind once again and bring tears of joy to my eyes.

“The happiest day of your life!” Everyone says. I know that it is true. The words on the sign mirror the words in my heart. Tom turns to look at me and I know he feels the same. If only this feeling could last forever.

Tears wet my fingertips as I try to stop their flow. I hurriedly close the book before the pages are ruined. I pad gently back to the small desk in the corner of the room. The chair squeals as I pull it out. For the first time since that day, I begin to feel it again. The words. They hum quietly in my veins, in tune with my heart. The blank document on the screen welcomes me.

When I rest my fingers on the keys the words crest inside my mind, but I cannot release them. The small window across from my desk winks at me in the waning light, but my fingers refuse the words.

Boots slip over my thick socks. My arms thread through the sleeves of a jacket. The rain-slicked handle to my car greets my hand with a cold slap. The streets are drenched with the downpour and I have to drive slowly to avoid hydroplaning. My pulse screams in my ears along with the words. 

I drive for minutes and hours until the sun turns the early morning sky to a harsh grey. The rain has turned into a drizzle, the wet fingers dripping down my cheeks and lips. Lightning slices through the clouds as I tilt my head up to the sky. I stand, surrounded by vast, empty, desert. Wind rips at my wet hair and hurls it into my eyes, but I still stand. Free.

I know that life changes.

I know that nothing is constant.

But words, they change everything they touch. So I am writing this, not so I can use words freely — everything comes with a price — but so the words will free me.