Wordsworth Magazine Autumn 2021

[Untitled] K a l k i d a n

There is a debilitating dread that comes with these days. When the sun comes out of exile and the days seem to stretch into forever. When the anniversaries start to roll in and you have to stop every few seconds to catch your breath.

It still feels so raw. Although the folks around you have forgotten, you still carry it with you. And it’s beating down on you, like the hot, hot sun, as you try so hard to pretend as if you’ve forgotten too.

One especially hot Sunday afternoon, you find yourself sitting in the corner of a small restaurant. The owners were kind enough to provide free water for anyone passing by, and you couldn’t help but go inside. It seems the rest of the town had the same idea. Waitresses are zipping around, some with menus, some without, some with trays and trays of food and some with just a cup of water. They’re all avoiding your corner. You prefer it this way.

Finishing your water will mean a waitress will come up to your table with a too sugary accent and ask, “Are you plannin’ on ordering anything?”, and when you shake your head no, she’ll give you a pity smile and run off to the kitchen to whisper about you. You know that. You finish your water anyways.

There’s nothing to do in this heat except to remember, and the noise in this restaurant is better than the noise in your head. So it doesn’t matter that the waitress who approaches you has a smile that pinches you. It doesn’t matter that the air conditioning here is so much worse than the air conditioning at home. It doesn’t matter that the day isn’t even halfway over. You can sit still for a moment here.

And when that moment passes, you start your re26