afternoon

Both times we broke up I ended up at the airport. It was around 4:00. They make time in the afternoon for these sorts of things, they told me. It was quiet and the gate agents casually gossiped, three of them helping me at once like formal waiters. That part felt right; I felt like I needed all three. Manicured, nails clicked against the outdated keys to make new plans. Somewhere between waking alone and trying to fall asleep again, things get done and a new life tries to assert itself. It’s when we make time for those sorts of things. It was when I gave up the flight I wanted to take to go someplace safer. And when it was done, both times, I cried, with tears that were just waiting for things to be done.

I called you yesterday afternoon as I drove back to work. I wanted to stop and tell you the things I had meant to say the night we talked but couldn’t look each other in the eyes. I wanted to say the things that require eye contact. And it was the afternoon, so the timing felt right. Except when I was done I left without a plan, no new ticket, no safe destination. And this time I didn’t cry.