At first, I waited for a phone call from him. A YouTube video advised me to
allow seven days of no contact and not to contact him first. That I should wait, if he cared
enough, he would call the video advised me.
Everything was white then. Our first snow of January had fallen, crushing our
fragile Texas energy grid. We played in the snow that day, my daughter took advantage
of the opportunity to attack me with snowballs … and I had almost forgotten that I was
waiting. We made videos to post online as proof that I was still alive and smiling and that
I indeed wasn’t waiting at all.
But I was. Waiting.
The warm pinks and hot reds of February were on display in every retail store.
Cupid bows and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates are tucked tight into the metal
shelving. Cards that say, I love you now and forever. Hallmark is so full of shit. It’s been
a month now, and I’ve gone beyond the seven-day no-contact period. My subconscious
says he is waiting, too. My fully awake conscious self tells me that that is also bullshit.
In March, I drank Shiner Bock dyed green with food coloring at a bar decorated
with four-leaf clovers and leprechaun cutouts. I drank with Shanta, who preferred to stick
with a shitty Chardonnay that no doubt came out of a box. I get lost in her conversation
as she never lets me get a word in. So many green words spewing out of her mouth. I
stalk his Facebook page, and he is smiling, smiling without me. Happy without me.
Surely, this being my birthday month, he would call. So, I wait.
It rained every day in April. Gray clouds. Black clouds. I cried every day in April.
In the piano room of the house, there’s a large window that I look out of daily. Through
the rain and the foggy glass, I see his black car pulling in. I am now seeing things. Every
car swish through the puddles in the passing street. None of them stop. Not even the
mailman. No post. No calls.
May, June, and July are red hot, with a yellow haze, and the pavement looks like
water. All the grass and trees are dead, dried out, and crispy. I am tired and not sure if my
heart is beating, but I’m sweating, so I am still alive. Trees have fallen behind the house,
their trunks dry and dead. I find it hard to get out of bed. I should change my phone
number so I won’t ever know if he called. I have limited stalking his page to no more
than twice a day. Is my ringer on? Did I hear it ring?
In August, I finally decided to go out with Kenneth. He takes me to Brennan’s;
the interior is hardwood and wall paneling. Low lighting. Brown, like the trees outside
the restaurant’s windows. He also had those trees in his yard, those fat rubber-tree leaves
with velvety undersides. Should I check in on Facebook? Take pictures of this $50 steak?
A video of the Bananas’ Foster with bright orange flames? Will he see that I am out?
Kenneth has the waiter write “New Beginnings” in calligraphy across the table. I checked
in on Facebook.
September is navy blue, and finally, there’s a breeze of cool air. In the news feed,
a picture of a girl with braids sitting on Kenneth’s lap reads, “When you know you
know.” I’ve decided to move twenty minutes outside of the city. I have had enough of
this metropolis of five million known as Houston. I moved to the forest. I’m a broke
Disney Princess. I start over. I quit smoking cigarettes, and casual sex with whoever, and
changed my phone number. I am now a virgin who no one knows how to contact. I like it
this way. I check his Facebook once a month now.
October is like an orange crush, tremendous but still burns your throat. Halloween
décor, pumpkin patches, spiced lattes, and every type of squash and gourd on doorsteps.
The cornucopia filled with the plastic harvest. I never thought to check my emails. We
talked through emails occasionally before. Could there be emails? My heart pounds a
solid sternum rattling beat. There were no emails.
November is a golden yellow. The sun rises in the east over the flat plains. What
worries the sun? Is she troubled by global warming and politics? Even if she is troubled,
she never ceases to rise and shine brightly. There is nothing more important to the sun
than rising. I endeavor to be like the sun. I will not wait to rise.
In December, all colors of lights beamed on houses and over shops. Christmas
brings a childish magic that can’t be felt at any other time of the year. The hope of love and happiness. The time to spend with loved ones and those who love you. My phone
rings with a Facebook Messenger call. It is him.
I declined the call.
