A little girl with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen
asked me if I know what happens when we die.
I smiled, and was about to answer when she said,
Don't worry. I'll tell you.

My mommy says it's like a big party,
and everyone that I know will be there,
each one having the time of his life.
Mommy says that God will have
chicken nuggets and Mac and cheese there
just for me, because he knows it's my favorite!
Isn't that sweet?

She smiled again, and went on to tell of
streets of gold, and a place
without pain, illness, or death-
a utopia of sorts,
and a God who made it all,
and who loves me specifically.

Her mother called out
Sophia! What did I say about talking to strangers sweetie?
Come here!
Sophia smiled, told me
she couldn't wait to see me again in heaven,
and went running off with her ponytail
swinging from one shoulder to another...
leaving me wishing that I believed it too.

After all, I really love mac and cheese.

It's gonna take me a long time to get over you
When I asked how long "long" is
You just shook your head.
Fair enough.
We sat in silence for a while.
Before then I'd never seen you cry,
But it was much more than just tears.
Blame, regret, and a certain brokenness
dripped* from your face,
Until there were no more words to say.
That was the hardest part-- no words.
We'd always had a plethora of stories,
Jokes, and lessons
To share with each other...
But when lightning struck the requiem
Behind which we hid,
I lost my ability to speak.
And so did you.

On the night of the next full moon, look for the girl with the dark red lips, and gold key
'round her thin, pale neck. She won't be hard to find, if you come with a shy
smile. Once you find her, ask her what the key keeps safe, and if
she smiles, take her by the hand, lean in close, and kiss her
face, and let her lead you. Don't try to take charge. She
will take you to the bus,where you will pay both of
your fares. (Don't try to talk to her on the bus
she will start to sob and leave you there.)
Once you're in town, away from the
street lights, take a sharp right on
8th street, and to an old torn
up tarp where she will
tell you to slit her
throat. And
you will
do it.

I have an unhealthy desire to pack my things,
take the next flight to anywhere,
and never look back.
Not even once.
Starting over in a new place
where no one knows my name
would be quite the adventure.
If one day, I up and left,
my mother would take it harder than anyone else,
but even she would need only shed a single tear
before the image of her other "good" children
charged to the front of her conscious.
Then I'd be able to watch her forget me,
but only from a safe distance.