acceptance

She says, “I know what it’s like to be dead.” I blink. Chuckle.

“What?”

“Oh.” She smiles. “I said, I know what that’s like.”

“Thanks for understanding.” I slide my hand out across the table to caress hers, and she links her fingers with mine. She takes a sip of merlot.

“It feels like I’ve known you forever,” I murmur, partially hoping she won’t hear.

But she only grins, a drop of wine dribbling down her chin. I reach out to wipe it off with a napkin. After thanking me, she nods.

“I do, too.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “But we only just met. Right?”

She holds my eyes for a second. “Right,” I eventually respond.

“What’s your family like?” she asks, taking another sip of wine.

“Oh, uh…” I rifle through my brain; mom works as a dentist, no she retired ages ago, my brother’s graduating college? Not that either.

“It’s okay if you can’t remember, it’s been a long time.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” She slides her hand up my arm, her finger drawing on the tattoo of a raven circling my forearm.

I shiver. She stops. Digs a manicured nail into my skin.

“Do you have any pets?” she says, her finger bouncing playfully.

“No, not for a while.”

She smiles. “Last time you said you had a cat.”

“Last time?”

She lifts her glass of wine to my lips. “Try this.”

I take a sip. Deja vu washes over me as the bitter taste lands on my tongue. I laugh as I tell her so.

She only smiles, pulling the glass back and taking another sip where my lipstick stained the glass. “What shade is this?”

“It’s…” I look around for my purse, remembering the tube thrown in the bottom of the bag. “Wait, where is it?”

Her palm flits across mine, taking another sip of wine.

I stand up, pulling the chair out and ducking under the table. Nothing. I turn to flag a waiter, but I can’t find one, I can’t find anyone. Except for the woman sitting at our table for two, the restaurant is empty.

She stands up to meet me, caressing my cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispers.

Hot tears well in my eyes as I lean into her touch.

“You have to move on,” she says.

So I finally do.

The body’s a funny thing. Allergic reactions happen because one’s body thinks a substance may be an invader, but it’s just mistakenly identifying the substance. It’s trying to assist itself, but in reality, the swollen necks and suffocation can slowly kill. That’s OCD for me, even if I didn’t realize it. It’s my body trying to control the uncontrollable, unintentionally, slowly, painfully killing myself. Miserably, my body clamps shut in an attempt to save it.