innertussles

Last night I must’ve been half asleep when I started muttering about our bed, how that old, lumpy mattress would soon just kill my back dead. How is it that I still have this thing here?

The truth? I could’ve replaced it long ago. I could’ve upgraded the furniture, bought the better things. But I’ve never cared much for that kind of new. I’ve always preferred what’s stayed with me, the things that have weathered time alongside me.

And yes, the bed could use replacing. But here’s what I remembered, somewhere between half-sleep and gratitude: it wasn’t all that long ago that I was dozing off in laundromats, trying to stay warm in the dead of winter, or in emergency rooms, pretending to be someone’s family.

A spot on a lumpy bed, a blanket like the one my wife gave me, would’ve been heaven.

I don’t ever want to forget the long road that led me here, to the comforts of home and, yes, our old bed and the tender lives that came to rest beside it.

Remember where you came from.
And be gentle with where you are.

I inadvertently noticed there were people standing on the pier for some kind of event. It was already evening, and the lights were warming up to that golden hue that flatters everyone.

I wasn’t there, but I saw it online.

And somewhere between that gentle light, the music, a voice, not quite spoken, crept in:

–“Don’t you feel bad that you can’t do things like that anymore?”

A pointed remark, for sure but yet not cruel, a bit smug.

“Wouldn’t you love to be out there, swaying to the rhythm, that cool breeze on your face?”

And, for longer than I’d like to admit, I agreed.

For a second, I didn’t want to be where I was. I didn’t want to be the person I’ve become, the one who now needs help getting up, whose tendency now is to say “not today” more often than “maybe later.”

But the voice didn’t linger.

Because a deeper one rose, quietly.

“Even if I could go, who would I be standing there for? There was a time I faked it, and after a couple shots of whisky I could wear the usual veneer of charm. If I stayed out long enough I could pretend I was part of something.”

But now?

Now I stay home.
Now I notice when my cats blink slowly at me.
Now I write things down even if no one reads them.
Now I tell the truth.

Even when it makes me ache.

Tag: innertussles

Lumpy Beds and Other Luxuries

The Voice on the Pier