HOW DID I GET HERE?

1. On the cramped airplane, like ants in a farm, I felt charged up like a Lite Bright. Diet soda, and apple juice. Aspartame and sugar. The freckled orange arm of the man seated sipped slow. I never wanted to be one of them--this culture. Thinking succulents will stop the war. That plastic grin and lazily flat- ironed frizzy hair chiming, “Small Business Saturday!” That polished urban naivety. My reality never aimed to be nail-polish. Looks great for a day, only to be chipped away slowly. I should grow up--new walls, new asphalt, new light. How did I get here?

2. The plane hovered over the bay, I felt like I could touch the water. I have always been reaching in, trying to save people. Self imposed RX. This consciousness like clay forming me into what people need. Nobody can explain this primal hunt for space, this ideological war between outward and inward. Warnings came like wildfire. “When you’re older you’ll know.” I stepped out of the car, patted my dress straight trying to get my key in the front door. The wind was blowing my hair in front of my face, as I tried to control it, you drove off. Nobody tells you about the black sap that causes bees to swarm you. Nobody tells you about the crushing friendships, the people you’ll be inseparable with only to be unrecognizable a year later. They think you’ve changed. You think they’re exactly the same.

3. My eighty-eight year old grandpa eyeing the speed of my pour. The hastiness of my bag-toss, Fortuna pull, in and out of the front door of the restaurant. My cousin points out she quit drinking, and all I can remember is the smell of her vomit when we snuck out at thirteen. I congratulate her, kiss her on the cheek, tell her I understand inhaling my cigarette deeply. I don’t. Discipline is someone speaking in rapid Spanish. I fumble to keep running. Maybe I’m not there yet. You blossomed later in life. It happens to the best of us. At some point you come to the crushing realization that the aspects of living that don’t fit, that incongruent puzzle piece is all your fault. There is nobody that spilled your milk. There is nobody chasing you down the street. There’s cynicism caught in your teeth--maybe lay off the coffee. Happy birthday, now blow out the candles. You will know soon enough.