On the phone, it is hard to know for sure if he can really understand the actual words I am using, but I like to think the ideas get across in other ways. Right now, we are speaking different languages, having at least two different conversations. It seems as clear to me as my dog’s pre whine nasal clicking means, Get Up! Get Up! Get UP! He says either I’m not going to or I don’t want to and my misremembering favours one over the other. There’s a green, green grass of home. There’s a field, I’ll meet you there.
In the donut shop, it is hard to know for sure if he can really understand the actual words I am using because his own words are coming out too fast and slick, not sweet like the confectionary air swirling around us, but fast and glomming, and damming up the space between us. My every word becomes knotted. Hog tied with a ribbon. Laced up in a lassoed bow of one-upmanship. He says even if you were dragged across the hot coals of someone else’s fumblings, when it happened to me it was worse. I can’t leave my body slumped in a chair in a window full of sweetness and light.
That bird has flown. That bird is meeting you in a green, green field. That bird is home.