I woke up to you getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. I try to fall back asleep, but we both know once I am up, that’s it. I thought maybe the sun was out, but when I peeked out my blinds, it was just the brightness of the clouded sky. I check every morning, but lately my blinds tend to fool me. We took our time in waking, like always, because you never want to rise as quickly as I do. I don’t mind wrapping myself into you for a while.
“Stay for the afternoon,” I tell you a bit later and crawl past you to boil water.
Afternoons have been the most dreadful part of my day. In the mornings, I get a peek of the sun (or try to), and at night, I get to cleanse myself of the day, falling into putting oils on my skin and writing (about you). But how do I fill the rest when all I want to do is nothing?
You stare at my new bike we found on Facebook Marketplace, a 1977 green Schwinn. My brother picked it up for me from the seller, Mark, a pilot. He kept it in his hangar at the airport. I don’t think he has actually looked at the bike in years.
“I wish we could ride our bikes today,” you say as you glare at it. The tires are awful, the seat is too high, and the breaks don’t work. Mark says he has an extra tire we can pick up, though I’m not sure when we will be able to.
“That’s what I get for caring more about beauty than functionality,” I say.
You wrote me a letter last night, because a poem I sent you on Twitter instructed it: “There’s a deep love you still feel drawn to. Maybe now is the time to write a long letter. In the boxes stored away are things you can carry now. When you are ready, open them.”
I asked you if I could read the letter while you were around, or if I should wait. It doesn’t matter to you, so I read it as you laid next to me. “On the bike: MAY THE LIGHT GRACE YOUR MODE OF TRANSPORT THROUGH ETERNITY.” Then you went on to explain in your letter the muscular attachment you have to your bike, because yours is only functional to your body. You claim this would strike bad karma if someone stole it, because they would have troubles in riding without your instruction. Perhaps I will get that same relationship with mine. We had great plans for a long bike ride when I got the bike yesterday, but we have a few things to fix before we get to the grand tour.
I scroll through social media and discover my favorite restaurant has both buttercream andlemon cupcakes today. “We should go,” I exclaim, slyly, because I tend to want a pastry every day now.
“I’d go, let’s walk.” So you take a shower and I put glitter on my eyelids, and we face the day.
I haven’t been outside in 4 days. Everything has been difficult. Without the sun, I seem to have no interest in going outside. I think we all know that. The sun was trying to peek out and say hello as we walked, but she was struggling, too.
We mostly talk on our walk about the argument I sort of got into with our friend Lou. His girlfriend is moving back to Germany, and we didn’t go hang out with her before she left because I felt it was irresponsible. We also talk about the situation between my friends. You know the situation, when your best friend confesses love to you via email, and what goes along with it. If there is a time to confess your love, it seems now could be the time. We are searching for ways to give people bits of ourselves.
I see an ambulance bringing out a stretcher on our walk; then I see construction workers, and a few lone walkers. It feels like it is just us now. We get to the restaurant, and I try calling to let them know we’re here. Before I can dial, a man yells out the door, “Are you Katy? Come on over.” I thank him, and he hands me the two lemon cupcakes (one for Lou, to reconcile), a snickerdoodle cookie, and two hot chocolates. Although it is cold, we walk over to a bench and eat our dessert. The lemon cupcake hits my tongue like the sun. You laugh as I appreciate the delicacy of a perfect frosting to cake ratio. My good friend, the one in the situation, calls. She needs advice on a response email. The beginning of this month, she was in another country, and so was her best friend. They haven’t talked in months, living on radio silence and ignoring one another. Before I can answer her question, my phone dies.
We walk back, avoiding the construction workers and without holding hands. There is no sun, but there are birds. We spot a cardinal on our walk back and run into your friend from high school playing football in his apartment’s parking lot, speaking from afar. We make a pit stop at a playground of a church and swing for a little bit. “You know, I never let anybody swing me on the playground besides my best friend,” I tell you. It’s true, I always thought I’d fly away. I didn’t get the point in being up so high in the air. Now, the wind feels the best it ever has, and I think I’d let anyone swing me through eternity. I’m not sure why, but we both feel dizzy quite shortly after getting on the swings, so we leave. We walk to Lou’s, hiding the cupcake in the lobby of his apartment. I wonder if they found it yet. Now is not the time for anger.
Katherine Trame || Ann Arbor, Michigan || March 30th, 2020