Literature of the Black Atlantic

I was suddenly aware of the sheer weight of my body. As the darkness crept in and my neck stopped supporting my head I remember vaguely imagining flying would feel similar. I’m sure I blacked out completely before hitting the pavement, or, possibly, the impact of my dead weight knocked me out.

That morning, in the shower, with the hot water running down my body, I was completely unaware of what was about to happen. No one has a perfect life, believe me I’m aware, but I thought I was getting close. It seems so silly now. Why couldn’t I have seen it all along?

I remember, vividly, stepping out onto the cold tile floor. Drops of water rolled off my skin making small puddle. When I looked into it my reflection was foggy, unclear. I can feel the terrycloth towel as I vigorously dry my hair. Doesn’t it seem strange now that I remember the feeling of a towel more clearly than anything else?

You had left already. Looking back, I suppose there is some dramatic irony in that. Not that it matters now. Looking back, I can see there was no warmth in any of the rooms. Sure, the heat was on, but where was the warmth?

I ignored the feeling. I think, as humans, we tend to ignore a lot of feelings that we can’t quite describe. I guess intuition doesn’t count for as much as we thought.

Last night, before you got back, I looked through our book. Over my dark red glass of merlot I think I remember being happy. The tokens of our adventures paired with pictures, memories, of our best times was something I enjoyed thumbing through. Now, it seems I was listlessly thumbing. The smiles don’t look as genuine when I think about it. They appear to be mocking me. If I could, I think I’d probably burn it and the merciless absurdity of it all.

You left early that morning. If you hadn’t, I probably would have never felt the urge to see you. It seems crazy to me now, the lengths I went to. I rescheduled a meeting with my biggest client, one of the firm’s biggest cases! For you, though, it seemed like hardly anything.

Usually, I would never even pass that hotel. Usually, I would never look to see who was coming or going. I guess that’s how these things work right? If you’re supposed to know something the Big Guy will help you find out.

You almost saw me; you turned your head right after I ducked into this alley, right here. Usually, I would never do that. Usually, muggings don’t end like this. Why can I remember my terrycloth towel and not you?