Darling, Smile

11.11.20

Liar.

Her golden-brown eyes snap opened and scan the room. 5:55am, again, all fives, she thought, “what does this mean? No, it is 6:55am, right? What time zone am I in? Where am I today? What state? Did I cross the KY/TN border last night? It’ll be pretty obvious if I go out today.”

Her mind races as thoughts come in and out, too fast to catch or hold onto. “Yellow! Today I’ll wear yellow, but coffee first!” she exclaims aloud. She hopes the Airbnb has coffee, she was the best guest, always a five-star review, and she could afford it, for now. She is used to her own voice, her own comfort, her own accountability, her own space. She knows this is how to control everything, to be alone. She takes her orange pill, then her yellow pill. Medicine prescribed by a Doctor, one for ADHD and the other for excess adrenaline. She laughs as she thinks about this, taking two pills that counteract each-other, but “the Dr. knows best”, she thought.

Imposter.

She has a few minutes before her meeting and scans her socials, admiring her own words from an interview, on the front page of a local newspaper. She wonders if she has done the right thing, abandoning all those people, all those lives.

Killer.

Virtual meetings have become the norm, but she understood that she was not adjusting well in her new corporate role. The weight of the whole state, all these new lives to be saved.

Savior.

A flash of light from the corner of her eye, a deep feeling of unease sweeps over her entire body as her eyes scan for a clock. “What time is it there? Why is he calling now? Why is it a Facetime call?” her mind races as she decides whether or not to answer.

Wife.

Quickly, she finds a blank wall to position herself against and puts on that darling smile. She says things that she knows she is supposed to; “Hey babe! Good Morning! Miss you!”. The calls rarely last more than five minutes when she is on the road, traveling for work.

Fraud.

If only he knew travel is unnecessary, if only he knew she prefers to be alone, as she reached for her little green notebook, a gift from a friend. A going away gift. All those lives, all those people she abandoned. She likes to write notes, her green notebook is worn, filled with pink post-its, blue flags, purple flags, and always blue ink. She likes to feel it in her hands, the weight of the notes, the reminders past. The accomplishments, the stories, memos to look back at, her doodles, lines of green, blue, pink, and yellow highlighter. She always writes the dates at the top, in blue ink.

Perfectionist.

Her energy could brighten a funeral home, she knew she shined like the sun when she flashed her darling smile, in one glance, she could make you feel like a million bucks, and she knew it.

Murderer.

He talks to her tonight for the first time in a while, she counts the days and recalls his face in her mind. They met on 01.11.20, right before the whole world began to fall apart around them. She remembers the letter she wrote him in March, thinking about what she confessed, words spanning five pages, in blue ink.

Homewrecker.

She knows she has to keep moving, keep going, keep saving, keep fighting, and lying. She misses her mom tonight; she thinks of the inheritance, the life-insurance. She hates that in this life, death equals money, as if $20,000 could make up for what happened. She cries as she falls asleep, alone, memories of her mother saying “darling, smile”. It comforts her to know she doesn’t have to leave yet. How long will the money last, how long can this last?

Orphan.

02.12.21

Liar.

Flashes of red come in and out of her minds eye as she meditates. What does red mean, she ponders as she scans her bedroom for the clock. 5:55am, again. She wonders why fives are everywhere. She has come so far these past six months, as she feels stronger and more aligned with her mind and body. She finally feels love in herself.

Selfish.

Her golden-brown eyes, smudged with black eyeliner from yesterday’s makeup, look over at her sleeping husband. She thinks of the other man, his eyes, his hands, he knows. Warmth rushes to her red cheeks as she stands up, careful not to wake him.

Cheater.

She drags herself to her home office, skips coffee, neglecting to take her orange pill, her yellow pill. She grabs her green notebook as she sits through a meeting. She still isn’t adjusting well, and she knows it. She puts on her pink framed glasses and flashes her darling smile, just as the virtual meeting starts. Her brain is unable to comprehend this new 2-D world, as she craves the moments when she can break away to for herself, her mind, her peace. She flashes back to all those people, all those lives, the money. She thinks of travel, the road, the sunshine, him. She thinks of the future, sunshine, colorful, bright, happy, him. She can afford anything, as she flashes back to dancing in her living room as a child with her mom, listening to The Beatles. The moment when she learned money can’t buy anyone love.

Ungrateful.

02.16.21

Liar.

She reaches for her phone, 5:55pm, and counts the days since he last spoke to her, since she last spoke to him; five. Five days she thinks is great progress. “Please make it at least ten days this time, please.”

Selfish. No, self-care, boundaries.

Her phone lights up, it’s him. He tells her he misses her; he loves her. He wants to see her this week. Liar.

Lover.

Her chest tightens, she is sure her heart will bust out of her chest at any moment. This is how mom died, her heart couldn’t contain all of the love and sadness. All those lives, all those people. She doesn’t remember what she had confessed to him last March, in blue ink.

Darling.

02.21.21

Liar.

Five days go by and he doesn’t see her, she doesn’t see him, he doesn’t talk to her, she doesn’t talk to him.

Patience.

She wants to confess what she has done. All those people, all those lives. Her mind is bright, it clicks, she thinks of the letter she wrote him, the confession. She knows exactly where it has been, she has held on to it this whole time, one year later, saving it, in blue ink. Rushing to a box of old office supplies, highlighters: pink and green, at the bottom of the box she pulls out her little black book.

Nostalgia.

She runs her hands across her small black book, noting and marveling at a year’s worth of notes, doodles, memos, letters, memories, confessions.

She turns to the crisp page where she had written him, reads all five pages, in blue ink. She grabs a blue pen and begins to write “02.21.21”, in the top right corner.

Acceptance.