I knew I’d only be seeing her for a couple of days, then she would be whisked back to the west coast, and then even further away across the ocean, so I knew this was mainly a fun weekend, a handful of hours when the woman I knew from the internet would be incarnated in the flesh. Getting too attached, and then hurt from going our separate ways, isn’t really a possibility for me. I have chronic anesthesia, I am desensitized from any prolonged sense of feeling. Especially once someone is no longer in my proximity, I tend to forget and get distracted by the shiny objects around me. I am essentially a simple creature.
I was surprised at myself when driving back from Milwaukee yesterday to still be thinking about her. The way she laughs and her easy smile, her unfailing confidence with a map even as we get more and more lost deep in the urban woods of Milwaukee, the way we picked out the same glass of wine with dinner. The bow shape of her upper lip when she pouts, or is she thinking? What is she thinking, with that Mensa mind of hers, or it is the writer, wondering how best to use me? Is it the Christian that wants to save me, or the dominatrix that wants to consume me? But what bows her upper lip doesn’t concern me, if I really want the anesthesia to wear off. When we wrote poems at the dinner table on scraps of paper, all of the words I contributed were suspiciously externalized. All nouns. All about the bright shiny objects around me.
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