nape of her neck

Funny how being home isn’t like it used to be. Give her a thousand dollars of money you sweat and cry for, and get an “it’s about time”. It’s not how any of us wanted it, but it’s all we’ve got left. Stay the night in powdered-sugar houses and pretend like we’re not sinking to the bottom of the barrel.

There’s snow today and it’s hiding yesterday. We’ve forgotten the time we braved the storm to say goodbye to her. She’s on a plane to Wisconsin now with her dolls in her carry-on but we’ll forget when the snow covers the landing strip. That’s what winter is good for.

She tries to make me play these games and this primal instinct chews up my stomach like a clawed animal is furrowing down there. It tells me to fight back and ruin her, because I could. But twenty-two years of being the mature one, the sweet one, the rational one, smothers that instinct. I’m knee-deep in a pool of girlish attacks and I don’t even feel them any more. I almost feel bad that it’s such a waste of time, I almost feel bad that no one gives her credit anymore cause she’s a broken record.

I dream about this other girl all the time. I saw her once at a gallery in her tight jeans and that ponytail that brushes the nape of her neck and looks so good. My ponytails are reminiscent of grade school, but hers, God they’re perfect. She’s sexy and everything I’m not and I’m obsessed. In my dreams we’re friends and I understand why they love her. Sometimes you don’t have to be a good person. That’s what kills me.

I’ve got all these thoughts and nothing to do with them. Toss them aside and they’ll get shoveled away when we clear the driveway. I want to curl up inside a cup of cocoa and be sweet and warm forever. I want to swallow the Christmas tree lights one by one and feel the love they preach forever.