Thin Lines

You now worry that if you both develop narcolepsy who will set the alarm before bed? And if sweater dresses go out of style- what will you do with all those leggings in the closet? How will you cope with wearing jeans and shirts that stop at your midriff or don’t have hemlines? The thought of wearing a belt that doesn’t sit on your hips is something you are not mentally ready to accept. So you stay awake for the sunrise trying to decide which is more important: a green scarf or a pair of yellow peep-toe flats. They both can not fit in the overnight bag that is going to save your life.

Driving to Seneca Lake the towns remind me of a trip we took to Massena. When we stop, I want to ask other people if they agree. The small lanes of cross traffic make me feel calm at stop lights as people take their time getting from one side of the street to the other. I wonder if they’ve ever sat at the stop sign on US-11 confronted with a sign for Lake Placid and one for County Route 15. Part of me wants to know which way they chose. Part of me is only curious about where you have been. I don’t ask either- about the signs or roads.

Even though it's March, your bones beg for warmth but you're not interested in trying to cover the outcome of running 37 miles a week on an empty stomach. Instead, you sit shivering at your desk, sucking your stomach against the back of your rib cage. The words from your boss travel through your brain like your breathing patterns- Breathe, hold, breathe -repeat. That’s how the nine to five routine became a 9 to 5 dress size.

I don’t watch the Price is Right anymore but last week, while repacking my overnight bag, I caught the show case showdown and saw it was Drew Carey hosting. The entire scene made me feel uncomfortable, like I was cheating on Bob Barker while listening to someone else encourage me to neuter my pets. It is things like not being able to depend on game show hosts to stick around that keep me up at night. If that doesn't same something about America's phobia to commitment then I don't know what does.

I have always had an uncanny ability to tell a convincing story. And as I watch you dance around a calculated and practiced truth, I question your sincerity with a raised eyebrow. In your version of the story, I did all this only to have you wipe your own sweat on my forehead as proof that you were in fact real, and there- 100%. You tell me that if nothing else, I am able to bend the truth with such finesse that you not only find yourself believing my worldly fiction but convincing others of it too. I say, "You remember things I don't."

I feel better when later in the week I learn that he was once a marine, but that doesn't mean I don't have my doubts about Drew Carey being able to convince me to get my pets neutered.