Last Night

Sitting across the room from him, writing, listening to the consonance of alt-country, thinking how one day I hoped for a moment like this. How I used to write about the faceless passenger who rode beside me, out into the desert at night, the top down, thinking how there was nothing more beautiful than this. These thoughts converged as your face became clearer.

Sitting here thinking whether or not I'm a good daughter, if I should live closer to home, if I should not feel guilty about the impending leap I'm about to take. That will make me more hyper-focused than I've ever been.

I spoke with her earlier on the phone and I could tell she was bored. She recited the entire contents of a magazine she picked up in Walmart. A magazine featuring all the places one should visit in America. She deserves to go to all of those places. She deserves to do it sooner than later. Because life is short, right? And that is what I keep telling myself about the impending leap I'm about to take.

Sitting here thinking what she must be thinking when she tells him that he's stupid. When he tells her that he'll kill her. And with all this play-fighting within the world of Alzheimer's, I wonder when reality will set in.

He leans down to kiss me and says, "Your boyfriend is crazy about you."

I watch him pace the room, his brain filled with ideas about the movie we wrote. My brain is spilling with anxiety for no reason. For every reason. For not knowing how to handle it all. 

Sitting here waiting for the sleeping pill to set in so I will stop thinking. Ready to crawl into his arms and drift off into dreams of the desert.