Samantha buys me tea from a shop in Portland that will help me breathe better at night, only what will it matter(?) if by morning our flight is for a return to India, dusty, where I also take my parents for the first time. We land and on that very day comes news of a death in the family, so mom disappears frantic to tend the details, I am left scurrying for a place, preferably free, though I’ve found handfuls of cash that mix me with a guilt and a relief. The tea is good enough for the whistle in my chest that keeps singing a sly lie so maybe it’ll stop. Most of us are running. I’m thinking next we should hit up Russia, or maybe a return to the States and struggle more.
“Is it helping, the tea? Costaprettypenny…”
“I’m sorry, I dinnit mean for ya to go spendin all that much monies…”
“It’s okay. Would ya like me to put on these fishnets?”
“You know I would be fine with that option.”
“I like being around you, ya know. Some say our love is just spring cleaning. They say it’s deluded, delusional…”
“What, you don’t think…”
“So the tea…?”
The tea, I think, is not the solution. And traveling is only a temporary fix. Any settling is setting back down into the same problems that weren’t faced back There. Give it a year or more to see, to see that I’m right about this. The weight presses harder as it matures on us. Never just me. Never just you and me or anyone. Both at the same time, forever.