head and stared at the floor. "Because I don't want to just get by , Madeline. I don't want to be a loser all my life. I've got to finish college and you...well, you're not going to be anything at all if you can't even graduate high school. Don't you see how selfish it is?"
"Yes,” I say. And then, "But we could do it together."
My belief in our togetherness was so big, but my voice was so small, it was all flushed away with the sick. I pushed myself up from the toilet and stumbled past him to the sink. "Maybe I'll just do it by myself."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I ignored him. Rinsed my mouth. I could tell by his face that he still didn't see how much I loved him. He couldn't see that I would work all day and all night, I'd risk everything, just to bring another speck of his love into my world. My mind went wild then, trying to pull together the image of what our life could look like, but I knew that I couldn't make the picture of us work by myself. With him still standing there, it seemed like a deception to imagine the picture that came more clearly to me, of just me and the tiny seed of him, growing strong in my arms.
"If you do that," his voice trailed as he stepped away from me. I thought then that it was the smell of the vomit, but it wasn't. Now I see that it was because in that moment, I was a matador, with my sword drawn and poised to slit the thick veins in his neck, and he was afraid. I was going to make his whole future bleed out on the filthy floor. His voice frayed and it echoed off the tile walls and the metal, toilet stall doors. "If you go ahead and have it, then I want you to know that we're over."
The sudden fear of losing him fluttered up in my chest. I never expected he would think of ending this. We were us , as if that could never change. He’d say things about my body and how he couldn’t believe I wanted to be with him and I’d pull him to me and tell him how stupid that was. He was everything to me. Wanting him had become such a habit that the thought of being without him made the sour knot of fear beat against my ribs and climb into my throat. The lonely sick was more powerful and rancid than the little one in my stomach.
"Don't be mad,” I pleaded. "I was just thinking that maybe..."
"There is no maybe.” His voice was rooted again and he stepped forward, his fists balled at his thighs, his stare as pointed as a bull that had escaped the ring.
I looked away, at my own face in the mirror instead. I had to stare to see myself the way I'd never be again. To remember who I was, what I looked like, before I did this thing. Before knowing if I'd already taken, one step too far to ever get him back anyway.
"I'll get rid of it,” I said.
He stepped close behind me then and wrapped his arms around my waist. He curled against my back, a heavy useless heat.
"I'm sad too, you know." The strum of grief in his voice seemed off tune. "I guess I can come with you when you do it."
The vomit came up so quickly; I shoved him away to lean into the bowl of the neighboring sink. The tips of my hair floated in the sick and I started to cry. I didn't think I could keep on standing there on my own, but he grabbed his nose, laughed, and stepped away.
"Peeee-uuuu!" He waved a hand in the air. "I bet you're gonna be happy when you're not doing that anymore!"
I swallowed down the hot fist in my throat. My arms trembled and my knees buckled, but I snapped them back into place. I didn't think I could keep standing there on my own, but I did.
***
The rain doesn't seem to ever want to come again. It is bad enough to have no other voice pairing with mine, but it is worse to have sunlight haunt me.
The first day without clouds sends me scuttling into the square loaf of shade made by the staircase enclosure. It is fine, until I see that the sun means to
"Yes,” I say. And then, "But we could do it together."
My belief in our togetherness was so big, but my voice was so small, it was all flushed away with the sick. I pushed myself up from the toilet and stumbled past him to the sink. "Maybe I'll just do it by myself."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I ignored him. Rinsed my mouth. I could tell by his face that he still didn't see how much I loved him. He couldn't see that I would work all day and all night, I'd risk everything, just to bring another speck of his love into my world. My mind went wild then, trying to pull together the image of what our life could look like, but I knew that I couldn't make the picture of us work by myself. With him still standing there, it seemed like a deception to imagine the picture that came more clearly to me, of just me and the tiny seed of him, growing strong in my arms.
"If you do that," his voice trailed as he stepped away from me. I thought then that it was the smell of the vomit, but it wasn't. Now I see that it was because in that moment, I was a matador, with my sword drawn and poised to slit the thick veins in his neck, and he was afraid. I was going to make his whole future bleed out on the filthy floor. His voice frayed and it echoed off the tile walls and the metal, toilet stall doors. "If you go ahead and have it, then I want you to know that we're over."
The sudden fear of losing him fluttered up in my chest. I never expected he would think of ending this. We were us , as if that could never change. He’d say things about my body and how he couldn’t believe I wanted to be with him and I’d pull him to me and tell him how stupid that was. He was everything to me. Wanting him had become such a habit that the thought of being without him made the sour knot of fear beat against my ribs and climb into my throat. The lonely sick was more powerful and rancid than the little one in my stomach.
"Don't be mad,” I pleaded. "I was just thinking that maybe..."
"There is no maybe.” His voice was rooted again and he stepped forward, his fists balled at his thighs, his stare as pointed as a bull that had escaped the ring.
I looked away, at my own face in the mirror instead. I had to stare to see myself the way I'd never be again. To remember who I was, what I looked like, before I did this thing. Before knowing if I'd already taken, one step too far to ever get him back anyway.
"I'll get rid of it,” I said.
He stepped close behind me then and wrapped his arms around my waist. He curled against my back, a heavy useless heat.
"I'm sad too, you know." The strum of grief in his voice seemed off tune. "I guess I can come with you when you do it."
The vomit came up so quickly; I shoved him away to lean into the bowl of the neighboring sink. The tips of my hair floated in the sick and I started to cry. I didn't think I could keep on standing there on my own, but he grabbed his nose, laughed, and stepped away.
"Peeee-uuuu!" He waved a hand in the air. "I bet you're gonna be happy when you're not doing that anymore!"
I swallowed down the hot fist in my throat. My arms trembled and my knees buckled, but I snapped them back into place. I didn't think I could keep standing there on my own, but I did.
***
The rain doesn't seem to ever want to come again. It is bad enough to have no other voice pairing with mine, but it is worse to have sunlight haunt me.
The first day without clouds sends me scuttling into the square loaf of shade made by the staircase enclosure. It is fine, until I see that the sun means to
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