Everyone's backed way off this week, hands up, eyes toward each other waiting and watching still to see what I will do and when it's warm and sunny I've been in the garden taking my sweet time trying to teach the boys that it isn't complicated and when it's raining I sit at the window seat, nose pressed up against the glass and I wonder if Jake knows. I wonder if I should tell him, formally. I wonder if I should venture down that long corridor to the rusted room where we can talk properly. I wonder if he's still there. I know Cole is. I won't let him leave.
I wonder why they feel like they have to protect me from each other. I wonder why it rains so much here. I wonder if we're given a set amount of time carved in stone or if we just fall into slots in life that are already carved out and the rest is just bad luck.
I wonder if I'd like to go back to work pouring coffee for minimum wage. I wonder if the headaches will ever stop. They started again the minute we got here and haven't let up unless I put myself into a near-fatal drug stupor. I wonder if my time is long or short. I wonder who wins. I wonder where Ben's heart is. I wonder if I'll get tired of this and move on or implode into a billion tiny feathers and confetti like I usually do.
I wonder what people think of me. I wonder why I don't care. I wonder why stupid things like farmers markets and beach days excite other people who plan for them regularly, and crowds and lineups don't bother others but they send me into apoplexy. Money makes me crazy. I count it, hoard it with a level of compulsion reserved for the most depraved. I wonder why.
I wonder when August is going to stop watching and start asking all these questions. I wonder when mood stabilizers will turn into chemical lobotomizers and when everything else will come to light. I wonder when they'll run over my brain with the ride on mower and swear it was an accident but turn on measures of relief so sharp we can use them to cut lines that bring about a new kind of fear.
I wonder when dinner is. It's not my night to cook.
I wonder why he didn't assign a watcher. I wonder if they know how close I stood to the wall today on the wrong side, wavering against the wind, my back pressed against the rough treated boards, my sweater hooked on the edge of the knot, the sea calling my name quite clearly before I told her I had to go back inside. I don't want to go in, I just need to get close.
