journal 1

at my parents' house, i sleep in my brother's old room. he never slept in this bed though. i wake up aching each day.

the room is very dim. it's lit by a ship lamp on the white dresser. the shade is too dark. last week, i put on a sweater inside-out.

this morning i went, wet-headed, to breakfast with my dad and his friend from high school, tommy. tommy has owned a greenhouse for years. dad goes there every friday and brings home a rose for mom.

i slid in the booth behind my dad.

i always forget, until i'm there, how uncomfortable i am when i sit directly across from another person. luckily, tommy doesn't look me in the eye very often. once, to ask, "so. how are you down in nashville? who's the boyfriend?" when i tell him "i don't have one" he looks me in the eye again to ask about the job and the finances. "are you out of the red yet?" he's staring at me now, and i keep aligning my fork and knife on the napkin. i look up, then realize i've made the fork lower than the knife. "almost," i nearly whisper as i tend to my utensils. he says, "i'm just trying to make sure you're changing."

i never knew i wasn't good enough the way i was. he probably meant "moving forward."

he had a wreck last week. he talked about sleeping on five pillows and waking up with sharp pains.

he talked about his diabetes and his depression.

about the funeral homes.

death and disease.

i was starting to choke. just in time, i remembered that i could think about something else while he talked. i diluted his drone and lisp with thoughts of yesterday's amazing cup of coffee, the fact that duke probably won't call me back, and how soft my sweater is.

it's the same one i had on yesterday. i look at my shoulder to start fully admiring myself and realize i've got it on inside-out again.
for a moment, i consider leaving it. my hair covers the tag in the back. no one will even know.

"...and my leg is itchy and pink. i scratched it until it bled."

i escape to the restroom, where i change my sweater around without going into a stall. i wash my hands. i think, "I can do this."

back at the table, it's eggs over easy. toast. bacon. hash browns. strawberry jam.

my taste in jam comes under brief scrutiny, but it passes. i just don't like orange marmalade.

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