Recentish
The year after my father died
I lived in fear
I raced rats in Alleys
I drank a lot of beer and told myself it was an aesthetic.
It was all hard and hot and easy
I tried to end everyday counting more blessings than frustrations
I'd sit on steps and write letters (like This Letter)
Letters to myself of what it felt like
assuming it wouldn't always feel this way
I sat on my porch and listened to postal workers.
I listened to their yells and screams and laughs.
I sat in their sounds
Hoping to learn their language and what they were always so animated about.
I drank coffee
I ate cherry tomatoes
In the distance of the skyline
The year after my dad died I rode my bike with no helmet on
I basked in the danger and kept repeating
"Getting hit on a bike is not a way to die"
Of course it wasn't true
Getting hit on a bike is the way a lot of people die.
Drunk drivers, bikers with No lights, wearing dark colors:
except I never believed in changing outfits for transportation.
Once I biked in 4 inch floral heels in the rain.
But I continued to lived in fear.
I almost threw up a lot.
The cold air mixing with the dehydration, the fried food, the lack of caring for sustainability or subsistence.
There was always love for substances.
I almost threw up a lot and thought about how each turn could be last, how I was running and riding and living in fear and trying to face it.
One time I was riding down Western from a new babysitting gig that I don't think I'll ever do again
I rode past Joey who gave me half his vegan burrito a week earlier.
He had curly blonde hair I could tell he dyed.
He had thick round glasses and wore a black cap no matter how cold it was, even tho I only knew him in summer.
He got close to my face when he talked.
I watched him as I rode by
I said hey
He seemed surprised,
And I felt excited.
I thought and
I thought about how if I hadn’t had stalled leaving the family with robin's egg furniture,
I wouldn't have seen him.
He would have rolled or strolled or whatever people say for bikers like him down streets like that.
I liked that, I liked the city and I lived in fear.
I lived in fear of people breaking into my apartment.
Any sound was the confirmation of people who lived who spoke loudly on news channels and family shows I tried to avoid.
Any sound meant danger.
Any sound (despite said postal workers and the construction on both sides and the creaky old stairs) was a sign and a sound.
A sound and a fury.
I lived in fear.
I lived in fear about tuition not being paid and rent not being made and not living it up. These were the college years. The best years. Only downfall from here. I lived in fear that they might not be that great. One time freshman year l I wrote on my 10 by 8 inch white board:
"the world is crumbling and we are all gonna die".
I don't think of that often but seems plausible to me.
I'm afraid of fear. It's lurking behind my door, under my bed, it's in my experience. Fear is written on the body: the way we tense up at sounds, the way my neck has maintained a certain strain and the bones in my vertebrae have popped up like pimples[NG16] . Fear is scary because it's believable: you've heard the stories, you've read the news, you've seen it on your grieving mothers face.
I fear fear. I fear it happening again and it happening worse this year.
They say it can always get worse.
And maybe it will.