At least this is how I remember it. Was it three weeks ago already?
I sat at the kitchen table, side-eyeing his industrious dismantling of the keys from my laptop. I pretended to ignore his grumbling about all of the crap that had managed to gather beneath letters nearly worn away from hours of typing.
I denied responsibility as I sipped red wine and ate dark chocolate with pockets of tangy cherry sneaking up on the edges of my tongue.
“I crouch on the ground when I write. I have three small children. Stuff gets under keys.” .
He aimed the cleaner at the laptop, “Sure it does.”
I switched tactics, “It was Dan. He has been using my computer. Boys are dirty. It’s a fact.”
I’m sure that Dan was somewhere in the room and he rolled his eyes at me. He might have even said,
“Yes, it was ALL me.” I didn’t argue.
Of course it was.
I can’t be sure of most of this, only the part where my father grumbled and told me I needed to start writing again. I can’t be sure because I fell asleep and woke up on the other side of the planet, three weeks are now a tightly rolled dream nestled somewhere in front of my spine, sighing beneath my heart. It turns in its dreaming and I shift as I sit with my feet on the chair, typing…
We have been a bustle of activity since our luggage emptied across the carpet and our sleep-confused bodies crawled into the beds that should be familiar to us. I’m grumpy in the morning as I pull Zaviera’s hair into a ponytail, as i stumble across several loads of laundry that needed to be folded. I try to gather my breathing against my spine, to hug it, as I navigate the disorientation that I feel at having travelled across the planet in twelve hours.
I wake up expecting the smell of my father’s coffee. I wake up expecting to see my mother emerge from her bedroom, her hair soft against her back. I wake up to this beautiful home and three children scrambling over one another and a stack of bills and a list of things in my mind.
I wake up feeling the great divide of our bodies and distance.
I wake up and begin again.