96.
now
I stand at the bottom of the marquee and look up.
IM SORRY
In the light from the floodlight, I can just make out the words. It looks like one of those cut-out letter messages that kidnappers send. Even though I tried to make my letters uniform, they’re all off a bit, a slightly crazy tilt to the leg of myM, a lopsidedO. And they’re not quite dark enough to be seen well. And the paper is too thin. And I forgot to make an apostrophe.
I’ve tied Yolo to the bottom of the marquee. “Not great, right?” I say to him, and he glares up at me.
As I stand there, theYfrom IM SORRY flutters to the ground.
“Oh,come on,” I say.
97.
“Mindfulness teachers say that impermanence terrifies us, but that we don’t need to be afraid of it or think of it as a bad thing,” my therapist said. “Do you know why that might be?”
I didn’t answer. The Post-its on her desk were bright yellow that day. Where had all the pink ones gone? Were there now pink squares all over town with people’s most important people written on them?
“It’s because without impermanence, there is no growth,” the therapist said.
I saw a pink Post-it then. It was at the edge of her desk. It hadDon’t forget to mail taxeswritten on it.
It did not mean anything.
98.
now
I pick up theYand climb the ladder to put it back.
I stick it up again, pressing the tape hard this time, and then I lean back ever so slightly to look at my handiwork. Something catches my eye, and I realize that Yolo has untied himself. He’s sneaking away. “YOLO!” I scream. I forget that no one is holding the ladder, I forget that I’m evenona ladder, and down I go.
My back hits a tree root so hard the pain literally blinds me. I can’t breathe. Am I broken?
A few seconds pass. Air comes back into my lungs. I can see again.
I lift up my arm, the one that hurts the most. There’s a wide, long patch where the skin has come clear off and it’s down to the meat of me, slick and red and so stripped it’s not even bleeding yet.
“Did you see that?” I yell at whoever is out there. “Do you care? Is there anything that could happen to me that would make you comehelpme?”
Something nudges at me.
Yolo.
He may have untied himself, but he didn’t run off.
“Thank you,” I tell him. I reach out my uninjured arm and grab his leash.
He climbs up to sit on my chest, staring. I know I have to get up and get going, but for a moment it hurts too much. Maybe we could just stay here for tonight, on this cool grass, suspended. I lie there, looking past Yolo at what I’ve written.
IM SORRY
I can tell one thing now—whatever this is that’s happening with this town and these letters and this mess and with me
I can hurtmore
