You and the Versions of Me

I stumble on your name in the news; my chest aching from carrying the weight of the world even before it happened. To say I felt the dissonance of our lives colliding is to say nothing at all. You made a comment in your official capacity, and I clicked on the barely changed version of you. You’re the one center-stage, hugging a little kid who looks a lot like you. My temples began pounding, throat going dry. Could you be a dad? By what law of the universe had you achieved this normal, white-picket moment?

It had never occurred to me, but this is is why I never read the news. It’s true, I’ve done my share of Googling ex-whatevers. But I had never dared to make a ripple in the still waters of memory; never swam to the reedy depths to chip at the lichen covering the memories of you who changed the course of my life.

My heart is burning behind my ribs and sternum as I foolishly take to social media. Like a raider who has lost all control, I stomp and shred through memories. I am clearing houses and there will be collateral damage.

I finally land on You. You’re the one who finished what could have been a bad game, a bit of bullying, a footnote.

A car door slams and I nearly leave my seat, grazing the tops of my thighs on the desk. It burns. Good. It matches the throbbing in my chest. 

You, on the other hand, look very different. Is this what happens when one steps over the line; commits? Is that what happens when the blackness inside reaches out and strikes with pain and ugliness at the innocence of another soul? I was only a girl testing the waters of acceptance, wading close to shore, when you rose like a golem and brought me down. And down.

You’re astride a horse with head thrown back in laughter. You are engaged, and at your age, all I can think is that the blackness corrupted previous parings. I listen as you play the piano, my fingers absently moving to notes I know by heart. We sway in our separate worlds with the rolling attack of each phrase. The cords reach inside and I feel a flash run through me. It hurts like watching my baby son skin his knee, like finding out my husband no longer loved me, like watching my life slip down the IV tubing delivering drugs that were killing to save me.

My hand shakes as I take a sip of water and remind myself I am in the here and now, not the then and forever. I try to slow my breathing as I type in other names. You all seem so bright, so shiny. You are guidance counselors, police officers, school officials, husbands, coaches. You have work-a-day jobs and wives and girlfriends; people who trust you. How could I belong to the same humanity where your lives unfurl like ribbons in a parade, a parade I once watched from a dingy hospital room, contemplating what I believed to be the totality of my tiny, cowering existence.

A door opens and I am slammed back into my skin, sweating and staring at a window pane that reflects a version of me against the darkness of night. It’s the version with the new name, the new career, and a kaleidoscope of coping mechanisms.

I dig the heel of my cowboy boots into the carpet and push the chair from the desk with too much force. It feels good, a rush, reminding me of strength of being. Of my place in humanity. 

I hear footfalls in the hallway as I close the browser, then the laptop, and smooth my hair. He walks into the room and I smile up at him with all the warmth of borrowed innocence. Taking one last look at the window pane, I see that other version of me staring back; but only for a moment.