He finally called at 7:30. I didn't answer.
I called back half an hour later.
"I'm not coming over tonight," I said. "We need to have a conversation. And I'm not ready."
"I know," he said.
Things that need to be said in person.
Things that need to wait until tomorrow.
And don't really know where this is going next.
Sometimes I'm OK.
Sometimes I'm scared.
Like tonight, looking out my kitchen window into the dark night.
My heart beating fast and my breath refusing to come
Except in short raspy gasps
Until I told myself to remember to breathe.
And concentrated on the air coming in
My chest expanding
And the air going out.
I never thought I'd have to think about breathing.
But, there, in my kitchen,
Water dripping from the tap
That's what I was doing.
And maybe we'll talk about this tomorrow.