Bottle The Hurricane
Do you know how long we’ve been sitting here, Giselle?
It feels like it’s been a very long time.
Nothing,
but me,
you,
and my dreams
of the sea swallowing me…
When it begins to rain,
you remark how
you can see me,
reliving the storm.
It breaks me,
like the levees in New Orleans.
I hate to look weak again,
to feel weak again,
and you tilt your head,
pouting with sympathy.
It's been 9 years,
so why haven't I moved on?
Your voice is so sweet,
but it quivers.
You don’t know what to do.
You’ve got a war in your mind too,
yet you sing in a soft hush,
soothing me the only way you knows how,
fingers tangled in my cherry wood hair...
Just let it out, Bayou.
It's safe to cry.
I know you’ve got issues.
You know I do too.
You can cry.
You know your dad did too.
You know what your mom went through.
I do too.
Please Bayou.
Stop bottling the hurricane.
I let it go.
Breath.
In.
Out.
. . .
How long did I cry, Giselle?
Until dawn?
I’m sorry.
I know you hate to see me this way.
Just before the sun rises,
you walk with me,
lead me to school.
We’re in our summer clothes,
nothing underneath.
Giselle, you know it’s Sunday,
right?
You give me a knowing
velvet smile
as we jump the fence.
Holding my hand like this,
you lead me to the edge of the pool.
Giselle, you know it’s just barely April,
don't you?
The water is cold I bet,
and you nod in agreement
as you slip off your sandals,
start walking down creamy steps
into the water.
You’re still holding my hand,
it’s clammy, and the water
is in-fact bitter, and bracing.
You laugh it off
in that vanilla sweet way I love.
Even though I shouldn’t.
This after all,
is just friendship.
Right?
Out of nowhere,
your hand slips from mine
as you slip under the water
and the sun slips above the horizon.
And it’s 2005 again.
My dad is being swept away,
out into the Gulf.
Reaching, God how I reached for him
and he slipped away just like that.
My mom was always
the strong one.
My dad cried.
He wasn’t brave, or graceful.
He clung like hell to the drift wood.
Clawed onto whatever junk he could.
Until the sea opened up,
and swallowed him whole…
I still don’t remember
how my momma saved me
from the gaping maw of the sea.
I must’ve relived my dad’s final moments
twice, no, three times.
I only snapped out of it
when you resurfaced,
and brought me into your arms.
You hastily apologized,
and pushed my hair out of my face
so lovingly…
so tenderly…
it was almost enough to convince me
that perhaps my love wasn’t unreciprocated.
How shellshocked did I look?
My stare must’ve gone further than a thousand yards.
All I could do is slide my arms back around you,
so I did.
I didn’t cry when I saw my dad die,
and I’m not crying now.
Even though I want to,
very badly.
Why am I still plagued by this,
after 10 years?
Wasn’t I supposed to move on?
Everybody on those TV shows,
in those dystopian books,
they use it to get stronger.
They take down corrupt empires,
slay great evils,
that they can hardly comprehend.
…So what about me?
You let me bury my face into your neck
while my internal monologue went on a tangent.
Your fingers combed through
my sweat and chlorine soaked curls
like it was the best thing you’ve ever touched.
Could you ever understand how good it feels for me?
Bayou…still with me?
Take it slow…okay?
Let me bring you under
and hold you.
Deep breath for me now…
You bring me under,
slowly.
It’s a paradox
how calming being underwater is.
For me.
Our clothes are loose veils around us,
you look like a mermaid,
and I can’t breath
but
it doesn’t bother me.
I let bubbles flow
from between my chapped,
bitten up lips.
You bring me out into the deeper water,
how long have we been down here?
You float onto your back,
bring me into your embrace,
your back to the pool bottom,
mine to the surface where the sun is rising…
Maybe this is cliche…
but this feels like Heaven.
I can’t breath, I’m not sure I want to.
I’m not sure I want to.
Do you know how long we’ve been sitting here, Giselle?