"A Persistence of Floods", Emily Mills
A Persistence of Floods
...by Emily Mills (copyright 2002)
The wind was blowing. I remember that distinctly.
Maybe there was rain, too. A tang of worms and
garbage in the air: long, gooey-shiny worms, writhing
in their exile from the flooded loam. I remember
feeling exultant, arms lifted as high into the air as
I could manage without separating them from the
sockets. Flashy lightning reflected in the deepest
blue, where you looked out from your world and into
mine.
I remember the feel of your hand, palm out, pressed
against my chest, my collar bone stark and naked in
the watery night. You were almost intolerably warm,
like a fever on my flesh. I was probably cold, like I
always am. One hand on my pulse, the other reaching
back to pull an errant strand of copper colored hair
away from your face. Tears and rain mingled, mixed,
cocktailed without the umbrella.
There were words, tumbled out and tossed around like
whitewater, foamy and dangerous, alluring. But I
don’t remember them, only lips, terrified and holy
prayers. Silence, or the sound of water assaulting
the asphalt. My pulse quickening under such severe
scrutiny.
You laughed when I told you I didn’t believe things
like that ever really happened. I stopped believing a
long time ago, sometime between puberty and years
later. I lost faith. You just laughed and shook your
head. But certainly there had been hardly a chance
for you to lose that. Faith. Hair like low-sky full
moons. Eyes cast in imitation of deep, deep water.
You were determined to restore my faith. You had a
new mission. You never failed, you said, I should
just throw in the towel already and give it up. You
had your palm pressed against my chest and a
devastatingly determined look about you. You were
licking the raindrops off of your lips.
Someone somewhere prayed for drought.
This is what I needed all along. Me, the control
freak, the idiot with the issues. Afraid of losing
control. Afraid of anything outside myself. Of you,
and of course of you, you the most uncontrollable, you
the crazy and wild-limbed banshee. Screaming my
death, my birth, my afterbirth spilled all over the
new carpet. And once you took hold of my desperation,
what could I do but resist? However futile it was, oh
and it was.
The wind was blowing, I remember, and someone
somewhere remembered me when I was a different person.
You didn’t care. You said you wanted the whole deal,
the good and the very ugly, the shivery, scared,
shaky-legged creature who knew nothing about much of
anything save that it wanted to learn to walk so badly
that it was willing to fall over. But just once.
Just once and then the ground would serve just fine,
thankyou.
I looked up from the ground at your outstretched hand,
considered it, played at deeper thoughts, blanched,
and reached out with both hands trembling. What would
come of this?
Is it worth the risk, to give up some sort of control,
to stare at the sky instead of the walking path,
tripping over roots but marveling at the unbearably
beautiful blue above? You tell me, you say, you have
to make up your own mind about this. You can only try
so hard before it’s all ultimately up to me.
Trust. Flesh. Love. Blood. And the weather was
waiting for us to make up our minds.
When you touched me for the first time, drew your
fingertip over the planes and curves never touched
before, I lost track of time. I threw away my watch
and sang hymns to your will. Your willingness to put
up with me, to try. You, my pioneer in reds, blues,
grays, and cream.
But I remember doubt, jars falling off shelves.
Shattering into a million hollow shards, cutting my
fingers when I tried in vain to clean them up, piece
them back together. Desperately, confused as I was,
taken off guard and quite new at it all.
And you just laughed and shook your head. You had
done what you had set out to do with me. A lesson. A
test. A last supper before life began.
Now that time has resumed its’ pace, striding steadily
alongside me, I should write you, or call out, to let
you know that I’m thankful. Full. Filled.
Because once I gave up on gravity, falling wasn’t
really so bad.
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