Two

I want a cigarette. Bad. I’m sure I could scrounge up a pack if I looked hard enough.

I can taste it. It wouldn’t be menthol. He doesn’t smoke menthol. And it’d be short…much shorter than the ones I used to smoke. I would breathe deep. I’d fill my lungs and then feel the burn as smoke poured out of my nose.

I want a drink. Make mine a whiskey…cinnamon flavored whiskey and coke, please…on ice, of course. I want whiskey at 9:43 in the morning. I want to scorch the back of my throat as it slides down.

Cake would be good. Bakery cake with sticky white icing. A decorated cake…pink flowers…green leaves…no writing, please. And the inside should be yellow and spongy and leave gooey brown goodness on the bottom of the plate when you slice it.

Yesterday morning I looked at myself in the mirror as I dressed for work. My face, despite the artificial glow of carefully applied foundation, bore no expression. Good Morning America played softly in the background as the words “Happy New Year” came to mind.

Only it’s not happy. It’s not happy at all. Not that it’s not ever happy, there are happy days. But this day is not happy. So it’s a new year but not a particularly happy one… so far.

I hadn’t realized this before…this marking of the year that I do in my head. In a way it’s a relief as it serves to explain why January 1st has little to no meaning for me anymore. My year doesn’t begin and end at the same time as everyone else’s. My year ends on February 25th and begins again on the 27th…if I make it.

I leave the “if” in there because I need permission not to. On this day, more than any other, I grant myself permission to consider what would happen if I didn’t. Because, I don’t have to. No one does. Life is a choice we make every day. Someone else said that first, I know. Maybe that person, like me, experienced the capriciousness of life. Maybe they lost someone.

I don’t like to use the word “lost”. I didn’t lose Trey. He died. Actually, if anyone is lost, it’s me. I’m lost. More lost on some days than I am on others, but I’m always lost. I’m navigating a path I never thought to take. And yet, now that I am on it, I often try to imagine what would happen if I had to start all over again. What if I became even more lost? What if the thing that I never thought would happen happened again? Because that is the one thing I do know. The one thing I do know is that the worst does happen.

It’s a gray day, as it should be. It was this way last year, too. I suspect it always will be.

You can’t prepare. It hits you about a week out, without warning. Sadness covers you like a blanket. You feel the weight of it and you carry it around all day until, at last, you can close your eyes and escape. With any luck, sleep takes your blanket and leaves a respite in its place. It might last a day, two days. This year I was lucky, I had a few good days before the words “Happy New Year” appeared as though written in red lipstick on the mirror in front of me. And that was that.

Yesterday my boss’s face appeared over the top of my cubicle.

“Enjoy your time off tomorrow.”

Filled with irrational rage, I stood up and left the space without speaking. A big part of me hopes he realizes sometime today. That same part, the hurting part, the part that I’m allowing to run rough-shod over any and everything today and only today, that part hopes that he feels like a worm when he remembers.

It’s 10:43 now. I’m still in my bathrobe, my hair looks like shit, and I’ve never needed a mani/pedi more in my whole entire life. But, I’m not smoking and the half-empty can of Coke Zero on my desk remains untainted. The jury’s still out on the cake. My son and I are having lunch. He, too, is marking another year. He and my daughter-in-law are choosing the restaurant. I may choose to eat cake.

That’s what today is about; making choices and leaving room…deciding not to smoke, how to dress, what to eat, and whether or not to live. And, I’m leaving room…for tears, irrational emotions…and, quite possibly, cake.