Six Notes

Prelude.
I keep playing this
note, just this
one and realizing how
redundant it's sounding.
I'm realizing I know
six other notes, so many
rhythms, octaves, and variations, have
so much more to
say that I've been neglecting.
So much more that I'm going to
try and convey here:

I.
I've seen it so many times.
The jealousy.
The encroaching.
The take over.
The anger, victory, sadness, tunnel-vision.
The last time you were in
fine-form. I didn't
catch your
ready-stance--body and
mind poised for the
strike--until it was
too late. You were
already there, had pushed through the
slight discomfort I'd been
harboring in the
dark recesses of my mind.
It's not true I would
say to my pillow late at
night, willing my
paranoia to cease.
Now, though, I've spotted your
stance long before I did the
first time. I've always been a
fast learner so I've
caught on with only
one go 'round. I heard the
tell-tale words come out of
your mouth. Those slippery,
slimy words worming their way
into my life:
The only people I
ever want to hang
out with any more are
you and
her. Just like
before. So what now?

II.
I can't tell what's
creep-crawling through your
mind. I receive such
mixed messages from so
many people telling me
what you've said that I
don't know any longer;
don't know how you
feel, what you
want. Maybe until I
read your poetry or
taste your
lips on mine once again and then I
have to
wonder just how
much is going
entirely unsaid.

III.
Your note is
different because of
all the music there is between us.
This is not a
metaphor, no, this is
literal. I love how we have this
much in common, but when the
tension died and when I
know I've done the
same to you, I want the
music to
stop playing over this
distance between us.
When I think of how
wrong and
rushed I've been, I want to
slam my hands against the
wall in frustration because there's
no way I can slam my
mind there, too, let
along all this music.

IV.
It comes and goes, but
lately I'm fine.
We're fine.
It's all different, but
manageably so. Still,
sometimes the light
hits you and I sigh,
you laugh and I wish that
I'd caused it, but not in a
serious way. Like
today. I only realized
later that you'd never
driven me before and that
we used to
talk about how much
easier it would
be when you could.
We used to
say that then you could come
take me
away and we could
drive around, just the
two of us, and everything would
be okay.
The world would
stop for a moment and
it would be okay.
'Course, we never
lasted that long and
today, being in your
car, after the exam,
eating that cake, it just felt
awkward. I think that was the
first time
since that we'd been
entirely alone together.
I didn't even think to
look at your face.

V.
I can't tell you why I
hate you so much,
except to maybe say I
honestly don't.
Sometimes.
Sometimes I
think that when I
move out, if I just
drifted away from my
family, I wouldn't really
mind so much.
I'm not one to
miss that many
people and you're no
exception.
Most of the
time we're
fine, if we're not
doing anything, if we're
both in good moods.
But more than
most of the
time, we're grating,
ready to scream, poised to
defend, and so we're
skating on thin ice.
These days feel more
real than those days when we're
okay. The days when we're
okay are so
few and far
between that I
honestly don't know how to
handle getting
along with you.

VI.
She kept mentioning her
father, catching me
off guard and
ushering in my
silence. She kept
saying how her
father is her
favorite; they have
so much in
common and he
understands her.
I slammed my
mouth shut and tried to
block out the
talk of fathers.
I thought of you, how
long it's been since I last
saw you alive, since you
died, since I last
saw you at all.
She didn't know,
it was okay, but I
felt a pang I'd thought maybe I could
go without for a
little while since I'd been
doing so well for
so long.
So long that really isn't
long at all in the
grand scheme of
things, but everything through
my eyes grows cold and
distant and
disconnected much
sooner than it
probably really should.