How could you write about such private things, she asks, sitting across from me, arms folded across her chest.
It didn’t occur to me that they should be hidden. How else do you communicate, I wonder. Yes, we can talk about the movies, the newest restaurant in town, the sale at Nordstrom’s. And then what? What about everything else? Where do those thoughts go if they have no where to land? Don't they evaporate and return in a torrent?
I don't want to live like a stranger among foreigners, timidly wading through a field wondering where the mines are hidden. I get restless in a corner by myself. I want to reach out, recklessly if necessary, and find the voice that says, no, no, it isn't just you. You're not alone. How can they hear me if I don't speak? How will they find me if I lie low?
I’ve lost patience for niceties, platitudes, double speak. Say what’s on your mind, I want to scream and shake her until a pearl of truth falls off of the necklace chocking her. What do you see through those eyes of yours? Take those plugs out of your ears and nose. If it tastes rotten, you don't need to chew it until someone tell you so. Spit it out.
It's nothing new. I could have told you that. Anyone can, because they taste it too.
How can you bear to stand alone? Why do you?
Have you so little faith in the rest of us?