Sans Apology
BY ANONYMOUS
I feel like I should apologize.
For sitting beside you on the tire swing, weighted with pressure to say “dare,” then suffocated by your clammy hand, resting limply over my worn-out sports bra. We spun in circles of truths and dares, hiding from each other, seeking ourselves. My mom would say “boys are stupid, throw rocks at them” But I never had a good arm. I feel like I should apologize. for how it felt to get on my knees for you, guilty, vulnerable, juvenile. And how it felt to refuse to do it again, Guilty, Isolating, Did I do something wrong? Your body had tasted of marijuana and nicotine, your breath of whiskey and one-word replies. So I crashed, naked on the bathroom floor, a detox I didn’t ask for. I feel like I should apologize, for staining your sweatshirt with my body. A body that fell to your feet in submission. A body that you wielded and controlled with phrases like “I fucked her to make sure you were the one.” You stained me with words I couldn’t wash away with Tide. I tried anyway; the smell of detergent lingers still. I feel like I should apologize. For my broken heart and how it stumbled with you to a guest house, then fell with my clothes on the floor until it got back up to say “No,” but you weren’t listening. My friends were jealous, but surely not of the way I lay in bed without words for what had happened. I feel like I should apologize, for the shame that raised the hair on my arms and the fear that rose up my short skirt right after I stumbled from your room at 3AM Four years my elder, didn’t he know better? I wish I could tell myself to talk about trauma. Sometimes, “closure” doesn’t fix everything. Sometimes, you can’t just close the book, you have to read it, too. I only just finished the forward. I feel like I should apologize. For finding her nonchalance enchanting, for listening to her as she whispered maybe as if words could be a promise as if this time, it’d be different then stared at my soul with what I thought was an awakening-- as if eyes can’t lie. as if I fell back asleep once she left my mind. I might still be waking up. I feel like I should apologize for leaving the Christmas lights on, their bulbs illuminating the comfort I thought I felt. I wasn’t comfortable with you; sometimes I’m not comfortable with me. But I still wanted to explore your rivers-- the way you ebb and you flow, your history tattooed on your body. Yet I couldn’t find a stone to skip and watched as the kayak capsized. I feel like I should apologize because I feel too much, too soon, too complicated, too confused. But the apology is only a lump in my throat. Because, if I really wanted to say I’m sorry, I’d say “truth” instead of “dare,” because vulnerability is beautiful. I wouldn’t need a detox, because I’d have boundaries, and I’d set them. And I’d use the stain remover my grandmother swears by, instead of Tide. I’d believe that saying ‘No’ is okay. Saying no is okay. Saying no should be it. I’d remember that age is but a number, but maturity is on a sliding scale. And I’d question words and identities and stay awake. I’d explore my own rivers, my own histories and tattoo them on my own body. If I really wanted to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize, I wouldn’t say the words I’m Sorry, at all. |