When I fell I wasn't scared.

I let my arms throw themselves wildly in the air like you'd see in a film with Alice and the white rabbit.
I let my hair whip around my face,
slash it,
as the wind twirled me down the abyss.

I didn't cry and I didn't scream out.
I just closed my eyes and pressed,
flung,
drove forward.

It must have been two when you called because the neon "Miller Genuine Draft" sign had just gone off on 4th and Alamitos.
I remember picking my cell phone out of my pocket as I fell,
saw the blinking red light with your name glowing across it but I didn't pick up.
I could of, but I didn't because he was there and you weren't.

I licked the **** on the carpet and the car seats,
felt the lint and dog hair attach to my tongue just as I came in the abyss;
eyes rolling and body arching sensations of ecstasy ******* my insides.

The drop was like falling into a down comforter;
soft,
comforting,
generous.

And one,
two,
I was out.

She doesn't look at people,
she looks past them like they're not even there.

She pushes the Push sign on the glass door and breathes in.
The air is stale inside and full of young children holding their parents hands,
teenagers with braces and sweaty foreheads.

Everyone around her barely glances so as not to be the fools that stare,
but some men still do.

When she stands in line to get the few items she has in her arms,
a cashier immediately becomes available and stutters over the total,
glancing too long at the pens, lifesavers, and Chap Stick she’s purchasing
while handing her cash back to her.

She's that type of girl,
the type that men stop and stutter for.

When she exits the store
a man jumps back to hold the door open for her.

She's the type of woman whose jeans fit her *** in the right way,
and her stomach is perfectly flat against the soft touch of her top.

She exits and walks towards her car,
hands tucked lightly in her pockets.
She opens her door and feels the fresh cold air brush her cheek
as she turns her head and throws her brown hair towards the night.

In the car she empties her pockets
of the handful of things she had stolen
and smiles at her reflection in the rear view mirror.

Silently a wave of euphoria runs up through her chest
to the top of her ****.

She turns the key and the radio’s music begins.

The rain had eased at about two that afternoon
but now
at seven
it was revived again as I drive the thirty-minute route to her house

It was romantic in a sense
seen through the tinted windows
the drops swirling down gently through the freeway’s lights

But I didn’t want to feel romantic
I wanted to feel apathetic
or dominant
or confidant
but none of these
by all appearances
was meant to be

I had always been obsessed with numbers
especially when
out of a random collection of figures
something meaningful seems to be bubbling up
So it was
as I observed the clock turn to 7:07 pm
and I was listening to song 7
on Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits
Subterranean Homesick Blues

The night is unusually dark
almost moonless
like a black hole
or a road that leads to nowhere

As I’m driving through the hills that separate me from her
I can barely see the sides of the road
only charcoal rolling mountains
and twinkling neon lights blinking far off in the distance

I finally reach her exit
I forget which way to turn after getting off the freeway
and it’s not the first time
I drive for fifteen minutes through the now pouring rain
not knowing I’m going the wrong way
The storefronts are all a blur
their lights spraying in front of my eyes
making it impossible to separate the stores I should be passing
from the ones I shouldn’t be

I go up a huge hill and I know I must have gone too far
I feel stupid and turn the music up
to block out my sudden poor self-esteem

     I turn around and head in the right direction
my heart speeding up as my car races through the rain
my attempt to make up the time I’ve lost

Her house appears up ahead
encircled with a wire fence
stray cats swiftly making their way under it
I question why I’m here again
remember that I told myself not to get attached
and yet...  

I grab my purse and turn my head
just as she appears next to my car
Her outline is as I remember it
I feel warmer
The rain has stopped

I see you everywhere I look
this ghost daughter of mine
in the backseat of the car mimicking the songs on the radio
in the grocery store holding my hand tightly against your tiny one
in the morning sunlight picking out your dress for the day

I hear you everywhere  
you introducing yourself to guests at the front door
saying your whole name proudly
first, middle, and last
your voice screaming, "Mama!"
when you don't get what you want

I feel you everywhere
dancing in your tap shoes to L.O.V.E. by Nat King Cole
putting your arms out at the end
smiling ear to ear
jumping on me when I get home
holding onto my stomach with your arms
pulling on me
telling you what you've done today
your warm forehead when you're sick
and the feel of your brown hair in my hand as I pull back your bangs
I've never met you
but I miss you always

Breaking up is harder than it seems
pictures on the mantel
dusty images of memories

Her face pressed against the bed sheets
eyes enamored by the tiny lights that stream through the blackout curtains
her stomach in knots
mind imagining what is to be:
loneliness
the quiet streets she'll now watch at sunset
going to bed alone

and yet there is no choice
*"I have to leave"

The dragon's tail
will whip the **** out of you
stay close, don't wander

There's only trees and whipping vines in front of my eyes
I'm moving forward but I still feel their branches
slapping my cheeks like ice

I relate everything to the cold
my nose
and toes
and stomach
are always cold

I bolt forward through the pain
You're screaming at me
I can feel it
You're tearing things
throwing things

The river's current is louder now
closer
the sound is excruciating
and suddenly I descend
wrenched and dragged by ice arms

I watch you as you become smaller on the land
and I'm underneath
my body numb now
surrounded by silence
I close my eyes
*Goodbye girl
Goodbye world