…the light just gets swallowed by the darkness - just swallowed right up and you don’t know what to do so you panic and every part of you feels like you’re shaking - down to the marrow in your bones - and you’re scared of what will happen and what won’t happen and what might happen and you are numbed by all this nonsense but it’s not nonsense it’s your life?
He’d been making me buttered coffee with raw cream every morning for 3 weeks, which made this coffee taste worse. It was a hot Monday in July. He needed to get his car smogged, and his car was a mid-90s manual, and his anxiety over it not passing wrangled its way into my peripheral and began to sprout through my serenity.
Did I mention we were at Jiffy Lube? That it was 104 degrees and the men working there were mopping the shop floor? I couldn’t hear the sloshing and grunting - noises I imagined were produced by mopping on a hot day, but I could see them working through the glass. They had an easy comfort in their bodies, they moved freely.
And I wasn’t hot, so I pumped a cup of coffee into a styrofoam cup. I wanted tacos. I had to get up the next morning at 3:50 to board a plane and go back to LA where I wouldn’t see him for another 2 months.
Later that day, we would walk through the smaller shaded trails in the park and talk about what we each wanted the next year to look like. Parts matched - others didn’t. And I would think about all of this in bed that night while he dozed next to me. The moon was the fullest moon of the year, and it shone through his bedroom window and I wondered if the moon would look that bright through my bedroom window back home.
And in the morning I would wake up and shower and pack my final things and we would drive without the radio on to the airport where we would say goodbye to our summer together and each go our own ways for the next 2 months and something inside me started to ache while another part of me started to grow and yet another part of me felt like it was dying.
And back home the next morning, I made buttered coffee and raw cream.
Kacy Catanzaro: the first woman in history to qualify for Mt. Midoriyama.