Читать книгу Let’s Not Live on Earth - Sarah Blake - Страница 13

I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO WALK TO CVS WITH MY SON ON A NINETY-DEGREE DAY

First we go to the Rita’s next door. The plastic spoon slices that flesh inside my lips—

because you wouldn’t call that skin, right? The rest of the day I run my tongue over the slices,

which remind me of the shape of the spoon, as if it’s in my mouth again.

We waited so long at CVS, I bought my son a coloring book that was on sale.

You color in a page, then you use an app on your phone to transform it. They call it 4D

as if everyone’s an idiot.

For the walk home, we take nine smaller roads. I catch sight of a ground-down stump

to the right of the sidewalk. Only then do I see branches piled high to the left. Just like that

we’re walking through a body like it’s nothing.

I complain to my husband on the phone about how I can’t get the stroller

over the broken cement of someone’s driveway. Only then do I see someone sitting in the yard

within earshot. I want to apologize. I want to say, It’s like mine.

But it’s too late. I’m a bitch at the end of a three-mile walk after my insurance almost

denied coverage for my anxiety medication.

I think my anxiety isn’t mine at all. I think it’s communal.

I know they’ve found that we inherit trauma, but what about when there’s no time to pass it

between generations. What then?

At home, we drink water. We’re covered in sweat. We color in a dragon.

With the app, he flies above the page, the color my son gave his skin,

his head turning as if he heard my son’s voice, until he does it over and over, predictable

little dragon head. Whole predictable body.

We’ll all be sleeping tonight, at some point. At some point,

we’ll all be sleeping tonight. Unless we die in these last hours of the day.

But if we make it through, my head will look like yours, asleep. Just like it. Just like that.