exit wounds
"i'm falling through the doors of the emergency room, can anybody help me with these exit wounds? i don't know how much more love this heart can lose, and i'm dying, dying from these exit wounds."
once, in a world that no longer exists, i got on an airplane with this song dancing on the tip of my tongue. to my right sat nanny, anxious as always, clutching her carry on like the crown jewels. i stared out the window beside her, trying to commit the city of philadelphia to memory as it melted into pooling darkness. it occurred to me that one day i might want to remember what it looked like to be leaving this country, the lights of a city i've never seen fading over a darkened ocean. young & sixteen, i had no way of knowing how true that would one day be; no way of knowing that the notre dame had just seven years left to remember it's past, before the same fire burning in the heart of a young traveler would ignite some of the oldest beauty left standing on our tiny rock in space. the library of alexandria smolders in the past, leaving the future afraid of the flames.
"where they're leaving, the scars you're keeping.."
something grinds under our feet. nanny shifts anxiously. my mom and her sister smile at each other, younger and calmer and so willing to love each other when things aren't slowly smoldering into ash.
once, in a world that no longer exists, i got on an airplane with this song dancing on the tip of my tongue. to my right sat nanny, anxious as always, clutching her carry on like the crown jewels. i stared out the window beside her, trying to commit the city of philadelphia to memory as it melted into pooling darkness. it occurred to me that one day i might want to remember what it looked like to be leaving this country, the lights of a city i've never seen fading over a darkened ocean. young & sixteen, i had no way of knowing how true that would one day be; no way of knowing that the notre dame had just seven years left to remember it's past, before the same fire burning in the heart of a young traveler would ignite some of the oldest beauty left standing on our tiny rock in space. the library of alexandria smolders in the past, leaving the future afraid of the flames.
"where they're leaving, the scars you're keeping.."
something grinds under our feet. nanny shifts anxiously. my mom and her sister smile at each other, younger and calmer and so willing to love each other when things aren't slowly smoldering into ash.
(it all comes down to fire in the end.)
i'd like to go back now and tap myself on the shoulder. if i could, i'd switch off my racing thoughts and point to the way my mother laughs. i would have reached under my seat for my notebook to write to my parents, thanking them for the gift of escape; for raising me in the bellies of airplanes heading somewhere amazing.
today, in hindsight, i'll pen the words anyway: on this shitty hospital stationary, i'll finally thank my father for dancing me across the decks of ships on our way to kiss shores that most people only dream about. i'll scratch out the letterhead and write poems about the things my mother knew before i did. words would be so lucky to describe the life my parents gave me.
but for now, in this memory, i'd like to ask my mom and my aunt to take a picture of this moment and tuck it into every corner of their minds. i want them to save it for the days when everything is different and nothing makes sense. how is a person to know what they'll need as it's happening? if hindsight is 20/20, i wish that in this memory i'd had the foresight to wear glasses. my mom rests her head on her sister's shoulder, playful giggling filling the air.
how do you make someone stop to appreciate something they can't imagine losing?
five years later, my mother's tears steep the bitter grounds of a morning coffee in paris, hot and sweet, full of memories where soft pastries are tucked italian style into somebody's purse for later. she wipes her eyes on a dirty napkin and tries to tell me how it feels to be an only child with two siblings. life is so much more painful than her heart cares to admit.
"am i better off dead? am i better off a quitter? they say i'm better off now than i ever was with her."
back in my memory, nanny is tapping my shoulder. she yanks a headphone out of my ear and points to the lights sparkling behind the plane, grinning with such excitement that i can't help but look, too; her smile so radiant that i begin searching for jesus in the clouds.
"you see this, kid? get a load of that! can you get a picture of it? can you take a picture so we don't forget?"
there's no one in the world i'm more willing to snap photos for than her. i slide open the camera on my brand new iphone 4 and show her how to focus the frame. she blinks in amazement as i tap the screen, capturing our exit in real time. i tap again and pull up the photo, bright and full of a possibility that settles over us. she sighs happily, amazement dripping from every word she speaks.
"those little gadgets sure are something. imagine taking a photo like that! mama used to love to travel, but back then you couldn't just snap any old photograph. you know, it's hard to believe that now a days you can just --"
the thought dies as my mom cracks a joke about the length of the flight, bubbly laughter spilling from my aunt's lips in response, hands playfully smacking arms as snacks are exchanged. one of them asks how many movies a person has to watch before insanity sets in. nanny leans over with a rolled up magazine and smacks at their arms, hissing about how she must have picked the wrong seat, because for her, it already has.
"hey, settle down over there, will ya? i was saying something. we're in public! you think YOU'RE losing it? ten more minutes of this and i'll show you losing it. the two a youse act like you've never left the house before. who raised you?"
she settles back in her seat and waves the sky mall catalog one last time before turning back to face me. the fact that she's still young and lucid enough to find her place in a story without a bookmark is not lost on me, even if it was back then.
i'd like to go back now and tap myself on the shoulder. if i could, i'd switch off my racing thoughts and point to the way my mother laughs. i would have reached under my seat for my notebook to write to my parents, thanking them for the gift of escape; for raising me in the bellies of airplanes heading somewhere amazing.
today, in hindsight, i'll pen the words anyway: on this shitty hospital stationary, i'll finally thank my father for dancing me across the decks of ships on our way to kiss shores that most people only dream about. i'll scratch out the letterhead and write poems about the things my mother knew before i did. words would be so lucky to describe the life my parents gave me.
but for now, in this memory, i'd like to ask my mom and my aunt to take a picture of this moment and tuck it into every corner of their minds. i want them to save it for the days when everything is different and nothing makes sense. how is a person to know what they'll need as it's happening? if hindsight is 20/20, i wish that in this memory i'd had the foresight to wear glasses. my mom rests her head on her sister's shoulder, playful giggling filling the air.
how do you make someone stop to appreciate something they can't imagine losing?
five years later, my mother's tears steep the bitter grounds of a morning coffee in paris, hot and sweet, full of memories where soft pastries are tucked italian style into somebody's purse for later. she wipes her eyes on a dirty napkin and tries to tell me how it feels to be an only child with two siblings. life is so much more painful than her heart cares to admit.
"am i better off dead? am i better off a quitter? they say i'm better off now than i ever was with her."
back in my memory, nanny is tapping my shoulder. she yanks a headphone out of my ear and points to the lights sparkling behind the plane, grinning with such excitement that i can't help but look, too; her smile so radiant that i begin searching for jesus in the clouds.
"you see this, kid? get a load of that! can you get a picture of it? can you take a picture so we don't forget?"
there's no one in the world i'm more willing to snap photos for than her. i slide open the camera on my brand new iphone 4 and show her how to focus the frame. she blinks in amazement as i tap the screen, capturing our exit in real time. i tap again and pull up the photo, bright and full of a possibility that settles over us. she sighs happily, amazement dripping from every word she speaks.
"those little gadgets sure are something. imagine taking a photo like that! mama used to love to travel, but back then you couldn't just snap any old photograph. you know, it's hard to believe that now a days you can just --"
the thought dies as my mom cracks a joke about the length of the flight, bubbly laughter spilling from my aunt's lips in response, hands playfully smacking arms as snacks are exchanged. one of them asks how many movies a person has to watch before insanity sets in. nanny leans over with a rolled up magazine and smacks at their arms, hissing about how she must have picked the wrong seat, because for her, it already has.
"hey, settle down over there, will ya? i was saying something. we're in public! you think YOU'RE losing it? ten more minutes of this and i'll show you losing it. the two a youse act like you've never left the house before. who raised you?"
she settles back in her seat and waves the sky mall catalog one last time before turning back to face me. the fact that she's still young and lucid enough to find her place in a story without a bookmark is not lost on me, even if it was back then.
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