afterwit

noun. knowledge gained, too late to do any good.

 
I knew you were on your way. I saw your van drive down my street. I sat in my black lace, mourning dress, pretending to be busy. You walked in - sat down. I could barely look at you. I tried conversing, explaining, apologizing, but I could feel it coming on. My stomach began to rise to my throat and my ears grew hot and my eyes began to sting. You asked me if "that's it?" I don't remember saying anything. My mind went black. My body went numb. You got up and walked out my door. 

- click -

Bright white.

A nuclear blast went off inside of me and I began to shake - blood beginning to boil.

(I reacted.)

I remember sliding on my cheetah print shoes, and the door slamming behind me. I remember talking, or maybe yelling, as i walked, or maybe ran, down the stairs towards you. 
Suddenly - you were outside; I was still inside. I panicked.

"QUICK - think of an excuse." My boots. I needed my boots.

I was now next to you, answering your questions - or maybe not saying a single word? My head was gone - back in my apartment, looking down at it all, crying, pleading, 

"DON'T! STOP! CARI PLEASE!!!"

I was ahead of you - pretending, attempting to gather some sort of composure, some sort of sanity. I dove into the back seat of the van. You were in the front seat - on an island far away. My hands flailed outward, grasping for things - anything. You were so upset; farther and farther away.

Then I was out of the van - staring at you through the glass window, searching for a safety net, security, something. You turned the wheel. The tires rolled forward - or maybe they didn't? But I began to run, next to the van, to the corner, around the block. I could run forever. I would follow you until my heart exploded - until the intensity and numbness went away. I would have ran until we were back in my apartment, watching a movie, playing cards, eating popcorn, making love, sleeping next to each other. I would have ran until I was next to you again. 

"THIS CANT HAPPEN AGAIN! I CANT LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN!"

You yelled. I yelled. You swore. I smacked you. You yelled more. The door slammed. 
And then we were done. 



Cheetah print shoes are not running shoes.