H ow To Steal Your O w n B l o o d by Francesca Hodge
Stake your claim. You have arrived here and you’re the one in control. Rustle yourself and feel the ground beneath your feet. I’m here to help, you may say, but the next thing yoau know you are pushing the metal tap into the soft bark of a tree. You squat there and feel like you’re back in Acadia National Park, hiding on the edge of the sea cliff, feet sore from rock scrambling. I see you siphoning off as much as you can carry in those portable shower bags your mother bought at Target. I see you slipping back into memory, don’t do that to me. You’re hanging up blue tarps and filling air mattresses and making sure Matthew is being careful with the knives. You remember when he let it close on his finger by mistake. That was the first time you saw him beg for his life. Your father kicks an English Muffin. He walks home. 2. I can’t remember what I said on the phone. You follow this ritual because it feels so good to be domestic. You oblige to their need, and you are proud of it. It’s not a bad thing, though the blood bag dripping through the cart bars says otherwise. It’s just a bag of red peppers—of beets—the plastic package of potato chips. What’re you buying those for? You should get in the car and drive to the airport. You’re in the roped off section of a French nightclub with a stomach of coerced red wine. You waxed a Canadian girl’s legs on the train—she wiped off pinpricks of blood with a black scarf. Stillwater Magazine
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3. This is something you will say often. You love the crooks of arms and the winding of legs. Stained as you are, you will love the souls of many.
4. Of course it did. You drank too much and now your head is against the shower wall. You stay there for months and there’s not much I can do but wait and watch. I’ve seen this happen with transfusion patients. Their skin will flush and itch, their breath comes short. The antibodies inside them are attacking the new blood and you reel from it. I’m sorry, but this will pass.
5. But I’ll Get Steal? More Again. Isolate yourself in that dent in the ground. The weeping willow protects you against prying eyes and you’re grateful. Silence in the heat feels nice. Stay there for as long as you can.
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