You cannot

February 3, 2008 1:02 pm; February 5, 2008 10:02 am

She was crying:

Don’t---

shush----

me------

Don’t was a sob.

Shush was a hiccup.

Me was a breath locked that she couldn’t seem to release.

I was waiting for her turn violet, the way she used to turn violet when she was a child and hurt---- unable to wail that scream of pain.

I was waiting, wondering if I had to shake her or slap her--- what I used to do to her when she was a child and hurt, unable to wail that scream of pain.

She began to speak in sobs, hiccups and breaths locked that she struggled after each sob and hiccup to release. She would stutter on “s” or “sh” or “f”, unable to say the vowels after these consonants.

She would stop, still not breathing.

Then she would sob, hiccup and finally exhale to say one word beginning in “sh”. It would be the same way for “s” words or “f” words.

She said:

You cannot be angry when I’m angry.

You cannot scream at me.

You cannot curse me.

You cannot shush me.

She said:

Let me talk.

Let me scream.

Let me jump from that balcony.

Let me end this.

She said:

I am tired of fighting.

I am not even fighting you.

I am fighting myself.

She said:

Half of me wants to die.

Half of me wants to live.

The half that loves you wants to live.

The half that loves me wants to die.

She said:

And I feel no love for you at this moment.

And you cannot do anything about this.

Let me end this.

I said to her:

Not tonight.

She laughed:

You think it hasn’t ended already?

You cannot do anything.

She stops crying:

She goes back to being silent.

I looked at her sitting in front of me:

I felt her walking away from me.

I cannot do anything.