Ten years ago tonight

[mayamaia]

I ran, shoeless, toward San Jose, with reckless speed. I had held my calm and written my replies and then I took off, down the stairs, out of Swig, into the chill night.

I wanted my feet to tear and bleed.

I wanted to keep running until I collapsed from lack of air.

I pulled myself under control after a few blocks, and turned right, and slowed to a walk.

I wandered, picking tiny flowers, because California winters are green.

I wandered into a store, bought myself ice cream.

I turned my steps back to Swig, savoring the numbness capturing my hand from the frozen dessert.

It seemed like I was moving slower and slower, and by the time I returned to Swig, every step had its own full moment.

Every stair as I climbed up to look at the door once more.

Empty of everything but one slip of paper.

"Francesca, I'm sorry. Please come in and talk."

I stared at it for several heartbeats, studying my name in his hand with something almost like hope, examining the creeping cold that I had encouraged to take me, raising goosebumps on my flesh, making my toes hurt, making my hand with its still unopened ice cream feel pins and needles, making my too-fast heartbeat slow to a decorous rhythmic thump, thump.

And quietly, I said "I can't."

Then I turned away, entered the stairwell where I had written my replies, sat on the concrete steps, and started to eat my ice cream.