Thursday nights before Astrology Club she and I would meet in the basement laundry room of our building to lay flat and still and naked on the cold concrete floor while our soiled clothes commingled in the warm suds of a stackable washer-drier unit. Hidden by white noise and a deadbolt lock we let ourselves sink into the stability that both the ground and not moving offered us, breathing slowly in and out like the two agoraphobics suffering from loneliness and vertigo that we were. Painfully aware of being flung through the infinite suffocating emptiness, we would stay in that laundry room until the drier cycle completed and we felt safe enough to last through the meeting and on until the next Thursday night.
Finally, when we were ready, we understood, too, the possibilities of grass and soft breezes and ice cream men and the shine of distant stars.
Finally, when we were ready, we understood, too, the possibilities of grass and soft breezes and ice cream men and the shine of distant stars.
rj
rj