Phenomenology

You’ll have them right away, the obvious ones. Now he won’t get to meet the hypothetical, unborn children. To come to the wedding. To read the book I haven’t written. 

But it was January, or April, one of those months that are still grey and brown and wet. But he’d been dead for years, when it slipped out the radio ad, and into the car, into the head. 

He’ll never get the chance to teach me how to ski. 

I felt like the turtle, picked up by the eagle, coming towards the ground.

I had a panic attack after that, my first and only. 

I was on a girls basketball team when I was little, eight or nine or ten. My brother liked basketball, and I wanted to be like him. I don’t think, during that entire time, I actually understood how the game worked. No one explained it to me in a way I could understand beyond ball in hoop; I don’t think I knew how to tie my shoes. I stood around. He coached the team. 

Once, during practice, a ball flew over my head; I tipped my head back, and back, and back, following it like a bird across the sky. I ended up flat on the ground, staring at the ceiling. 

He would offer, most winters. To teach me how to ski. 

I’m a teenager, and we drive to my old elementary school. Everything’s tinged pink in the summer evening. We play tennis. Together, sometimes. No net, not always on concrete. Playing on the dry grass, the kind that grabs at your ankles, volleying. I take off my shoes, run through it after the ball. 

Separately, serving against the wall. Woosh, bang. Racquets bought at Goodwill. I get bored, I go sit on the swings. It’s nice to be outside. 

“I don’t like the cold.” (I’m ashamed of everything.) 

I’ve started running, recently. 

The world is very bright, and all the blood flows to my hands. I see a robot lawn mower, roomba style, and think about stomping on it. I see a washing machine, sitting on the street corner. I think about kicking it. 

I thrifted an XXL mens T-shirt to wear, olive garden logo on the back. A man passes me. He’s big, and fast, a terminator. In the Paleolithic, I can imagine him tackling a deer. There’s nothing to create here. There’s nothing to lose. Just movement. I’m winded after five minutes. I’m happy.