I think this was your birthday.
It’s been so long
since I thought of you
but as I recall
there was some arithmetic on your day
and this was it.
I wonder where you are.
I wonder what you do.
I wonder who you became
but I’m pretty sure
that this was your birthday
or a day much like it.
The broken girl looked up at me
and said
“Don’t hurt me. That’s all I ask.”
And I nodded
telling her I would treat her well
and it would all work out.
Even as I said such things
I knew full well
it would all go to shit
and the broken girl
damaged, deficient
and nearly divine
would be driven even further
down a dark path
under my care.
We weren’t good for each other
you see
and our future was clear to me
immediately.
She was not so perceptive
or as pessimistic
and thought
our pairing
would work well together.
Or maybe
she just needed
something to hold onto.
“Hold me…?” She asked.
I did
for a while.
It ended.
It always does.
Look
just fail already
all right?
You’ve tried.
God knows you’ve tried
You’ve tried harder than anyone thought you could
struggled further
and more successfully
than we thought would be possible
but it was always an uphill climb
and it was clear from the start
that you couldn’t win.
Winning isn’t everything.
Winning is nice,
certainly, but understanding the world
and its expectations
and resolving your place in it,
those are necessary achievements as well.
If you think about it
in a way
you’ve already won
so why keep going?
How far can you expect to take this?
Why don’t you just quit?
I make a point
to maintain distance in my storytelling.
I believe the only way you can control the story
master the events
understand and describe what you want to
with pinpoint clarify
is remotely.
This means separate.
This means unemotional.
This means with quiet reserve
and space and breadth to be separate
from what you want to tell.
So
though I write about "I" and "me"
and "she" and "he,"
in my head, I know that they are "the narrator"
and the "object of desire" or "the conflict."
It is never about my life
but simply about imagination.
Please understand all this
Alexandra Bruger
Fifty Ninth Avenue
Apartment 3W
and realize it is not about you.
It is about me
and there distance I need
for my stories.
It’s too early
to be this tired.
My eyes
cannot stay open
and my brain
has long been shut.
I am out of it
and off my game.
I can’t walk straight
and it’s all from this evening
watching over
those adorable monsters.
It took them hours to get to sleep
which includes messes and fights
and farts and matches
and time
– blessed time –
wasted on the most idiotic of projects.
Anything to keep them occupied.
Anything to sate their bread and circa.
I want to sleep.
I want to die.
I want to watch reality TV
until it all blurs away.
I am lost.
I am exhausted
I need respite from these children.
Momma
for all the things I did
and thought and said
growing up.
I am sorry.
Only two more days
as a nanny
before I can quit.
Don’t worry.
You can do it.
You can do anything
if you try
and this thing today
is simply part of the subset
of anything.
It’s bigger in your head
than in reality.
You can take this on.
If you have faith in yourself
you can take on the world.
This doesn’t compare to the world
does it?
NO!
You’re capable.
You’re smart.
You’re righteous and brave
and I have no doubt
that by tonight
you’ll look back at your worries and cares
right now
and laugh.
That’s assuming
of course
that you still have a jaw.
Good luck against the Hulk.
How can there be peace
after what’s been said
what’s been done?
With all the history we’ve shared
how can we go on?
I don’t have any answers
as to how we can go forward
but I know
that I want to.
I need to have some way
for us to continue
for us to explore
the future together.
I’m out.
I’m sorry.
I’m out.
I thought I could do it.
I thought I had it in me
but
when push came to shove
and I tried to put it in me
– I couldn’t.
I couldn’t do it.
The Pizza Challenge didn’t seem that hard.
Three medium pizzas in thirty minutes?
Child’s play!
But I didn’t realize
they were deep dish.
I didn’t anticipate anchovies
and I wasn’t prepared
for what the pepperoni
would do to my system.
My system crashed
and my eyes
went from the prize
right to the toilet bowl.
I am not the man
the myth
the stomach I thought I was.
I know you’re disappointed.
I couldn’t do it.
I lost.
I’m sorry.
I’m out.
There’s nothing in the tank.
I’m out.
I’ve nothing left to give.
I don’t have in me anymore
so I’m in no position to share with you.
I’m sorry.
I wish it were different.
I wish I could offer you something better
than this paltry thing before you.
I wish I had more to offer.
But it’s gone.
I have no more resources.
I’m poor
and can pour no more.
I’m out.
My father had serious surgery
soon after I graduated college
and
ever since
I looked at him warily
watching him over
walking on eggshells
worrying over his weaknesses.
I thought he was gonna die
see
and figured it was coming in the short run.
But I graduated college a while ago
and I spent years with the dude
concerned over what might come
instead of what was right there.
I’m not so sure
my choice was wrong
because my fears of his future
made many days in his presence
a gift
that was always surprising.
Sure
I could have gotten over my anxiety
about when he would leave
but maybe it left me appreciating him
more
than the alternative.
Maybe this logic is faulty.
Maybe I’m wrong.
I’d ask my dad what he thought about it
if I could.
jonberger 