pre-sob breakdown gearing up at full force.
“Oh, hell no. Don’t you dare.
“Fight it, Celie. C’mon, girl.”
She squeezes her fists,
sucking in a panicked breath.
Her nostrils flare so aggressively
I think she’s about to take flight.
And then her entire torso spasms,
a violent twitch.
As if her soul tripped over something
and faceplanted back into her body.
I look at her. Horrified. Yet slightly fascinated.
She holds her breath,
cutting off her own oxygen.
Her body stammers under itself,
face turning red.
Then she gasps as if her sadness was holding her head underwater, chin wobbling so aggressively from trapped tears I’m afraid her jaw will detach from her skull and roll under the fridge.
“Celie,” I say,
genuinely afraid for both of us now.
She flexes her fists again,
ready to fight her own heartbreak.
Her eyes snap to mine. Desperate. Pleading.
Tears pooling in the rims.
“Don’t,” she croaks. “I’m fine.”
She is the opposite of fine.
She’s enif.
I scan her head to toe.
“Fuckin’ A, woman. Pull it together.”
She sniffs,
wipes her nose,
