message in a bottle

Tonight, we write messages on tiny wisps of paper, put them into glass bottles (works better than plastic, no matter what they say), and set them out to sea.

It wasn’t my idea. It was her idea. I would never do something like that on my own.

And I’m having difficulty in coming up with what to write. A few sentences, an incomplete poem on a scrap of paper, should be easy, right? But my expectations are too high. I feel pressured somehow. I put too much stock in my output. Think of it. Think of how excited you would be if you found a bottle with a message in it. I would be excited, anyway. And how disappointed you would be if it was something stupid like: “Life is like a shoe” or “Hi. How are you?”

In the midst of my small writer’s crisis, she tells me she is moving. Moving away. Moving away to New York. Moving away to the big city. Moving away from me. And instead of telling her how I feel. Instead of talking to her, I began writing my message for the bottle.

You are leaving me. You have told me that you are leaving me. You have always been leaving me.

I feel my arms at my sides. I feel my breath cutting in and out of the black night air. My head feels light, like a balloon. And I’m not sure what empty feels like, but this is what I imagine it’d be like.

You say that we are still friends no matter what. Friends, yes, friends. I think I nod.

I imagine that you will hug me. To make me feel better. To make everything fine. To make everything better. Seem better anyway. You hug me. I don’t feel like reciprocating the hug but I do. I place my hands in the small of your back, criss-crossing your shoulders.

It’s an understatement to say that I feel defensive. I feel like I’m 13 years old again and my father has just told me that I don’t need to kiss him before going to bed. I feel as though I’m wrapping my arms around someone else, not you. Because I don’t know where you are. And I’m not sure who you are. The you who I knew would never leave.

I crumble the note into the bottle. And toss it as far as I can, swinging wildly.

This is so not the end of the world, I tell myself.

I know that everything happens in life for a reason.

And I know that I will get over whatever it is that I’m feeling.