A Porcelain Body

Today's the day I change the curtains for the patio window. The new yellow curtains fit the windows better than grey ones. Today’s the day I will finish all the work, clean the restroom, wash dishes, and make the bed. Today’s the day I will move you to a new spot. As I placed you in front of the patio window the yellow curtains gently brushed against your new porcelain body. I like to tell myself you miraculously shrunk down to a height of ten inches and you're simply stuck inside the porcelain vase. And I cross my fingers that if I place you in sunlight you will somehow find the courage to push open the lid. Unfortunately, I also tell myself that it will only open from the inside, so I have no way of helping you. Until you open the lid, I will continue to watch your new porcelain body stand on the upswept floor, in front of the patio window. And I will keep a close eye on you while I do the dishes, or while I organize all the useless things that clutter the kitchen counter. I will wait until your lid opens and you announce to me that you're actually still here. So I will be waiting for you, like I've always waited. When the sun starts to slip away behind the tall buildings I will close the yellow curtains, scoop you up into the nook of my arm, place you on the mantel, and wait for tomorrow, when it will be a new day and the sun will come out again. Then I will repeat those actions again and again. I will place you back in front of the patio window, let the sun wash down your porcelain body and wait for you to open the lid. Each day I can keep busy, but some days I think it will be easier if I just found a way to shrink myself to fit into the porcelain vase with you. But I know I can never change that, I can’t force my way into a porcelain body.

Next week I change my light sweater to a padded coat, and I’ll wrap a scarf around the neck of your vase, and back and forth I wrap the scarf. Going through the motions. And you will stand in front of the window on a swept floor. I’ll change the temperature from room temperature to heated, and watch my bill rise. I’ll wring my hands to warm them up. I’ll do this when I watch you from the hallway. Waiting.

Next month I think I will change the green leaves into orange ones, I will rake the dried ones piling around the tree trunks, and stuff loose branches into trash bags, then I’ll watch them poke and tear the bags for a week before I finally have gotten rid of each bag. Maybe when the leaves stop falling you’ll open your lid. But next season they will fall again, won’t they?

I don’t know what I will do next year, I can’t remember what I did last year, sometimes when I think about it too much I get light headed from the desperation. When will you open your lid? When will you finally come out and see me? When will you let me stop doing these meaningless things?

When I see the yellow curtains I think they would look nice in blue. But I didn’t change the curtains this time. Instead she did. She moved back in for a while. So I changed the amount of mugs in the cabinet from one to two. But I leave your mug tucked away on the top shelf, only I know your mug is there. 

I changed the orange leaves to snow and watch it glisten and shake on unstable branches. I make sure to place you in front of the window so you can watch the snow falling. Each day when I slip into thoughts of you she interrupts them, and for a second I can remember what day of the week it is. It's Sunday.

I changed the long winter days to have warm afternoons. I melted the snow and put away my scarf and gloves. I recited the day to myself. It's Thursday, it's Thursday, it's Thursday, and after that I remembered to take a walk around our block for some fresh air. It's been months since I took a walk. It makes me tired to keep reciting what day of the week it is, but she says it's a good exercise. I don’t know why she wants me to exercise.

I changed that idea. That idea buried into my mind, that I was the only one who missed you. Because she misses you too. She often stumbles upon something and a sadness hovers over her familiar features. Then she will put the object down, change it’s position and continue on with a smile. I didn’t know we could smile after thinking about you. Could I miss you and still smile? But my smile was meaningful to only you. As these thoughts start to frantically sprout in my head I realize there are arms wrapped around me. She embraced me. I said ‘What's wrong?’ and she said ‘Oh nothing I just felt like hugging you.’ And then for the first time I wondered if I interrupt her thoughts of you just as she does for me. 

Today I changed from eating at odd hours to having a sandwich and at around noon. And I shared cookies with her. Tomorrow I will have breakfast in the morning. But it’s been so long since you’ve filled my mug with coffee, and I’m still waiting for you. So I have a coffee-less breakfast, and she never probes me about this, she simply lets me be. It’s Friday morning, it's Friday, and the days are getting easier to remember. 

I changed a winter morning to a rainy afternoon, and rainy afternoon to a cool night. Then I changed a cool night into a cool morning, and a cool morning into a warm afternoon, and a warm afternoon into a humid night. And she said it's a gradual process for the seasons to change, it comes every year it's second nature to us but we still get amazed at each season. Did you know? I really believe I can change the seasons.

Today I changed my naked nails, and painted them a dark blue. Would you believe it? I had forgotten about my nail polishes. And I showed off each finger nail to your porcelain body, but as usual there was no response, even if it was your favorite color. But I’ll still wait. I changed my bedsheets to lighter ones because I changed the winter season to spring. A cold winter into a new spring. A fresh spring.

Today I changed myself. I’m no longer just going through the motions. I’m not a new person, I’m not sure what I am or if I can fully change the numbness you have left me with. So I decided to try to change that numbness to appreciation.

I’ve changed, in the sense that I will always have a hope tucked away inside of my living body. An unwavering hope that we will be reunited soon. But for now I can appreciate our memories. You’ve brought change into my life. And that change destroyed me. I can never be the same, but her change has started to put salve over my cracked state. 

Today your porcelain body is not cold against my living body. The spring weather warmed the house, and the sun reached all the way to the mantel. The sunny summer day shined over your vase. And while watching her make sandwiches for our lunch, I moved your porcelain body from being bathed in the fresh sun on the mantel to stand in front of the big patio window. Because after all, some habits just can’t be changed.