Side Body

kiss your friends’ faces more / destroy the belief that intimacy must be reserved for monogamous relationships / be more loving / embrace platonic intimacy / embrace vulnerability / use emotionality as a radical tactic against a society which teaches you that emotions are a sign of weakness / tell more people you care about them / hold their hands / tell others you are proud of them / offer support readily / take care of the people around you 

- Lora Mathis

~

Sometimes, I truly believe I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people.

The other day I was driving with my parents to lunch- hot, sweaty Dallas hung over us like a bad case of morning breath that just won’t go away. As we drove, we passed a street corner filled with boys from the local middle school football team. They held signs asking for donations to support the team’s gear purchases and future tournaments. As we pull up to them, I think I hear my mom mutter something about a car wash. It looks like the team has reserved the empty parking lot behind them, since many players stand scattered around the lot. I remember that teams in Broomfield washed cars all the time to raise money, so I assume the team is running a community car wash station for their fundraiser. When we slow to pass them, my mom hands me ten dollars to give to them as a donation. I roll down the window, and as the boy approaches, I feel the need to over-explain (my tendency to mumble dripping over), so I spit out: “We don’t have time for a carwash, but here’s a donation!” I even muster both an apologetic smile to make up for our inability to stay for a carwash and a look that says, “I get you”. I think I even give him a head nod. So suave, so cool.

The boy gives me a puzzled gaze and opens his mouth to retort. Before he can begin his sentence, his coach cuts in to grab him on the shoulder and reply, “Thank you for the donation. We appreciate it.” The boy continues to look puzzled, if not slightly bothered, while we drive away. As soon as we pull away from the street corner, my parents burst into laughter. I immediately get kind of hot and flustered as I beg them to tell me what is so funny. My father finally breaks to tell me, “There was no car wash.”

Oh no. No no no no no no.

There was no car wash, which means I just insinuated an expectation for labor FROM A SMALL CHILD ON A STREET CORNER. HE NEVER WANTED TO WASH MY CAR.

“Not everyone exists to serve you, Aly” my mother retorts. I cry on the inside.

I DIDN’T KNOW I PROMISE, I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE SUAVE.

The good news? This is only the second most embarrassing thing that’s happened to me over the past few weeks. During my last week in Denver, I went to the same Walgreens 5 times in under 24 hours. And yes, the same woman was working the cash register every time.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t at Walgreens for glamorous reasons. Let’s just say I needed many, um, ‘interesting’ things. Three of my five trips happened in the late evening after I had already gotten into my pajamas. I had come down suddenly with a pretty severe throat ache (think fusion of an exploding jagged spork and an unsanded bowling ball lodged all up in there). At this point, I had already been to Walgreens twice for other ‘interesting’ things, but as my throat slowly gave birth to a fucking baby dragon spewing fire from the vast pits of the underworld, I caved and dragged myself out of bed, pajamas and all, to travel back to Walgreens.

I spent two trips buying more painkillers and throat lodges. As I lay back in bed after these shopping trips, I unfolded into an unruly state of self-pity. In the comfort of florescent overhead lighting and no air conditioning, I sucked my lodges while whimpering and/or moaning and soft crying. Sarah McLachlan’s “Arms of an Angel” played overhead as I scrolled through old photos on Facebook. 2012!!! Ah, to feel joy again.  

“Arms of an Angel” was promptly followed by Beyoncé’s “Don’t Hurt Yourself”. The volume increased ten-fold, which caused me to kind of jump out of surprise. The wrappers from my chest spilled over, and as my computer screen went black, I accidentally caught a glimpse of my own reflection. My hair had plastered itself over my left eyebrow. A single tear had the audacity to keep rolling down my cheek.

In this moment, I am forced to Beyoncé myself: “Who the fuck do *I* think I am?”

I decide a tub of ice cream and some Advil PM (ahhhh the pharmaceutical industrial complex, I know I know!!!) are in order, so I roll myself out of bed for my fifth trip to Walgreens in those same pajamas. I stroll up to the cash register, telling myself, yet again, that whimpering is not acceptable in public. At this point, the woman and I have a routine. She has warm brown eyes that have allotted me growing levels of pity over my 5 trips to Walgreens. It’s almost midnight now. I think I love her.

I begin to walk out the store, but I drop my Advil PM in the doorframe. As I crouch to grab it, I look down at my torso and the t-shirt I am wearing. The t-shirt has a few holes littered around the front, which I knew, but as I look down this time, I do a double take.

The bottom half of my left areola is showing. Weird hairs and all.

I have been wearing this shirt for 4 hours.

And so, I leave Denver how I was always meant to- areola first.

~

I left Denver, and I sit writing this during a sort of in-between time. I am waiting for what will happen next. I find myself facing stillness, a stillness rendered spacious through its capacity to open up time for daydreams and self-reflection. Over my ever-present cup of tea, I wander softly, forward and backward and everywhere else. I sip and try to let the thoughtfulness of stillness wash over me.

I wonder: when you leave somewhere, or someone, or even something, what do you hold on to?

I take a sip and close my eyes. This, of course, has no answer. In fact, I have never been great with concrete responses- always too absurdly sentimental for that. Instead, I sit in my in-between and wait for the nerves, fears and overwhlemedness to creak amongst my bones. Sometimes the creaking consumes me, and when it does, my mind escapes to my favorite place.

I hope you all have been to this place too; I know I have been here many times. My favorite place is when I am lying next to someone I care about deeply. This 'someone' has been many different people. In my favorite place, the person I care about lies slightly above me. I lie on my side body to rest my chin on their shoulder, so that when I look at them, I look up through my own eyelashes to see the side of their face. Their eyes concave into the slope of their nose and onto the curve of their mouth. When I’m not looking at them, my forehead is pressed softly against their upper arm and shoulder with my nose slightly squished. Maybe I squeeze my eyes shut to better hold on to that feeling of closeness. My hands clasp theirs or maybe slide across their body to hug them. When I look up to watch my friend from this place, I can almost hear them breathing. Most likely, as I watch them, they are looking straight up into the sky or roof or plastered-ceiling. If I am lucky, I can see their eyes begin to wander some place else. Perhaps, they are getting lost in a whirring piece of their little Universe. It is always when they get lost that I lose my own breath. They look beautiful because whether they are whirring in sadness- tears streaming down their face- or whirring in wonder- stars alive in their eyes- they are alone with themselves for just a moment. There, I can see a soul, raw and shaking.

Have you ever seen a soul before?

When they are ready to come back to us, I usually dip my forehead back to their shoulder. As their eyes become alert, I close mine to press deeper into their arm. I probably grasp their hands or side body even tighter, to let them know that I am there. That I will always, always be there.

So that’s what I hope to hold on to: tenderness. Tenderness like admitting, ‘I need you’. Tender like being buckled over in laughter. Like giving one look and knowing everything. The kind of tenderness that may break my heart only to fill it with more stories. Tenderness that asks,

‘will you be still with me’.

I sip my tea in the in-between.
Of course, I have left a cup of tea warming on the stove for you.