Loud Lily #6
For the past two weeks my jogging outfit had lain untouched on the plush green chair in the living room. Every night I would place each piece on the chair as if someone who had been wearing the clothes mysteriously disappeared; the shoes at the foot of the chair, the shorts on the seat, the shirt draped on the back. It was the only thing I did when I got back home from the hospital two weeks ago, and this morning was the first time I put them back on again.
I stepped outside and was surprised to find that the leaves had already begun changing colors. I hadn’t been paying attention and it was already autumn. I wondered if bears experience the same disorientation whenever they wake from hibernation. I wanted to ask a bear how long it took to get used to being outside again.
Jogging was one of the many cutesy couples things we did together. He invited me two years ago, after we had been dating for a month. I wasn’t particularly fond of it, in fact I grew to detest it over time, but David had this rigid idea of the perfect relationship and I was happy to spend time with him.
It was 6:30 according to my watch. If David had been there, he would’ve made sure I stretched my legs. But he hadn’t, and I was on a tight schedule. I started running.
I used to have this theory that the only people who enjoyed jogging were dumb people. I reasoned that the ability to ignore pain signals to your brain and to continue performing the same repetitive task required an especially low intellect. This was one of the different ways I justified our relationship. I could compete with other girls because I was smarter, had a more interesting personality. Neither of my theories, it turned out, had been true.
I turned right on Belvidere Street. It was 7:00 now. My pace had slowed significantly. I was nearing a small section of road that had no sidewalk and had been closed indefinitely for repairs. It was a popular spot for regulars. On my left, two girls were stretching and laughing. I thought I recognized the one who was bent over. She looked like a girl David would have flirted with. I sped up.
At 7:30 the convenience store that we usually stopped at crept into view. I glanced at my watch again. It was too early. I needed to keep going.
This has been done before, I thought. A deranged person who started running and never stopped. This is not original. I double-backed.
I don’t distinctly remember being in the convenience store. I must have been operating on autopilot. I know this because I bought two bottles of water, something that didn’t occur to me until I was sitting on the bench under the shade.
It was 7:45. By now the priest would be asking if anyone had anything they wanted to say about the deceased. Heads would turn, scanning the room for my presence. I was the girlfriend. I would be expected to say something. My name was on the program.
It had been his mom’s idea to start the service when David usually woke up. I was the first person he saw every morning, so I should be the first to speak. Even when I was on the phone nodding and “yes ma’am”ing over and over I knew I wasn’t going to do it.
I finished the first bottle of water and opened the second. Not knowing what else to do with it, I poured it on my hair, grateful that I hadn’t worn a white t-shirt this morning, a fact David wasn’t likely to appreciate.
The day of his death I had spent all day in my room making a list of pros and cons, because that morning he had eyed five other girls and three of them eyed him back. When the list became too extensive I flipped a coin. When I realized that the coin was irrational I played video games. When I realized shooting zombies was unproductive, I returned to the list. After seven hours I realized that these were not signs of a healthy relationship, picked up the phone, and called his cell at 4:30 pm. I left a message saying that we needed to talk.
A month or so later, my friend Vanessa, who was a candy striper at the hospital, broke into his file and copied the whole report for me. He had been declared dead at 4:35. The decision had been made for me.
Sometimes I think about the voicemail, some data file containing an otherwise groundbreaking message that was never received.
But at 8:15 on the morning of his funeral I finally thought about the pros side of the list: the surprise party for my 19th birthday, how he made the worst-tasting chicken noodle soup when I was sick and how he would pout whenever I made fun of him for it, the fancy restaurant on the first anniversary and the rose petals on his bed the same evening, the midnight walks around the neighborhood, the awful poem he wrote me and the bonfire we had to celebrate its burning, the way he always found some way to be touching me even in front of his friends.
I stood up and began walking back to my house. The shin splints were painful, but I knew I deserved them. If I hurried, I would be able to make the reception.
I stepped outside and was surprised to find that the leaves had already begun changing colors. I hadn’t been paying attention and it was already autumn. I wondered if bears experience the same disorientation whenever they wake from hibernation. I wanted to ask a bear how long it took to get used to being outside again.
Jogging was one of the many cutesy couples things we did together. He invited me two years ago, after we had been dating for a month. I wasn’t particularly fond of it, in fact I grew to detest it over time, but David had this rigid idea of the perfect relationship and I was happy to spend time with him.
It was 6:30 according to my watch. If David had been there, he would’ve made sure I stretched my legs. But he hadn’t, and I was on a tight schedule. I started running.
I used to have this theory that the only people who enjoyed jogging were dumb people. I reasoned that the ability to ignore pain signals to your brain and to continue performing the same repetitive task required an especially low intellect. This was one of the different ways I justified our relationship. I could compete with other girls because I was smarter, had a more interesting personality. Neither of my theories, it turned out, had been true.
I turned right on Belvidere Street. It was 7:00 now. My pace had slowed significantly. I was nearing a small section of road that had no sidewalk and had been closed indefinitely for repairs. It was a popular spot for regulars. On my left, two girls were stretching and laughing. I thought I recognized the one who was bent over. She looked like a girl David would have flirted with. I sped up.
At 7:30 the convenience store that we usually stopped at crept into view. I glanced at my watch again. It was too early. I needed to keep going.
This has been done before, I thought. A deranged person who started running and never stopped. This is not original. I double-backed.
I don’t distinctly remember being in the convenience store. I must have been operating on autopilot. I know this because I bought two bottles of water, something that didn’t occur to me until I was sitting on the bench under the shade.
It was 7:45. By now the priest would be asking if anyone had anything they wanted to say about the deceased. Heads would turn, scanning the room for my presence. I was the girlfriend. I would be expected to say something. My name was on the program.
It had been his mom’s idea to start the service when David usually woke up. I was the first person he saw every morning, so I should be the first to speak. Even when I was on the phone nodding and “yes ma’am”ing over and over I knew I wasn’t going to do it.
I finished the first bottle of water and opened the second. Not knowing what else to do with it, I poured it on my hair, grateful that I hadn’t worn a white t-shirt this morning, a fact David wasn’t likely to appreciate.
The day of his death I had spent all day in my room making a list of pros and cons, because that morning he had eyed five other girls and three of them eyed him back. When the list became too extensive I flipped a coin. When I realized that the coin was irrational I played video games. When I realized shooting zombies was unproductive, I returned to the list. After seven hours I realized that these were not signs of a healthy relationship, picked up the phone, and called his cell at 4:30 pm. I left a message saying that we needed to talk.
A month or so later, my friend Vanessa, who was a candy striper at the hospital, broke into his file and copied the whole report for me. He had been declared dead at 4:35. The decision had been made for me.
Sometimes I think about the voicemail, some data file containing an otherwise groundbreaking message that was never received.
But at 8:15 on the morning of his funeral I finally thought about the pros side of the list: the surprise party for my 19th birthday, how he made the worst-tasting chicken noodle soup when I was sick and how he would pout whenever I made fun of him for it, the fancy restaurant on the first anniversary and the rose petals on his bed the same evening, the midnight walks around the neighborhood, the awful poem he wrote me and the bonfire we had to celebrate its burning, the way he always found some way to be touching me even in front of his friends.
I stood up and began walking back to my house. The shin splints were painful, but I knew I deserved them. If I hurried, I would be able to make the reception.
posted by Loud Lily at 1:38 PM
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