Swimming Lessons
no need for publicity. for praise. for the approval of my more popular friends.
its a quiet kind of yearning, a lurch in my chest that is barely containable.
the desire for a rainy day, the house to ourselves, for cold, sock-less feet on the kitchen floor, and for drawn blinds.
a real desire. a private desire. one that i have kept almost completely to myself. it lurks there, that desire, in darkness, at the back of my thoughts, and it is only ever permitted to step into the light when my mind is at it’s slipperiest.
slippery from sleep. or alcohol. or pleasure.
but when i dip my toes into that pool of desire, it is not love, or happiness that eats me and swallows me up. it is shame. hot, sticky, vomit colored shame. once or maybe more than once i almost drowned in it.
and so i always retreat. back to the “real” world. the physical, that is. and i go back to school, and do my little jobs that i do, and i throw sheets over my mirrors and i put on a nice, respectable dress.
but the lurch in my chest remains. i remember the shame, but it does not. and soon my mind will be slippery again, slippery from sleep. or alcohol. or pleasure. and maybe this time, finally, someone will have cleaned the pool.
|