introduction to flying

how old were you the first time you became aware of your body
not only its needs and desires but the way other people saw you
the way your body influenced the reactions of those around you
how old were you the first time you hated your body
stood in front of the mirror growing steadily toward the edges saying
please god
if you exist, make me stop growing.
i grew up submersed in this fear as my friends dipped their feet
in their inground
pool parties were the thing the summer between eighth and ninth grade
the summer that i began to curve dangerously into something
that made my friends’ mothers nervous
something that made me nervous for the first time about rejection
based on the size of my stomach, they sat
on the side of the pool, proud of their failure to fill out bikinis
while i floated on my back with my ears underwater
arms outspread like flying
fifteen second intervals of relaxation because that’s how long it took
for my stomach to float to the surface
round in a way that even my eating disorders could not erase
fifteen seconds, that’s how long it takes
for my body to reassert itself
and does it still count as flying if you only go down?

like going down on boys in the backseat of their mother’s car
ninth grade spent in that darkest corner of the parking lot
you all know it
one eye peeled for cops, for other couples who might recognize
my messy hair over the line of the car windows
and jump to the correct no never that never her conclusions
the other closed against my physical reality
shush honey, just close your eyes and make believe
and the next day they laugh when i make the mistake of smiling in their direction
nah, we never did that
she’s a dyke
and i was but scratches on your back are better than the ones on your arms
and does it still count as fucking if you only go down?

because if it does then i fucked
every man or woman placed before me
every positive aspect of my life
every ideal i ever wanted to live until i ended up
fucking my life so hard my heart stopped
for fifteen seconds
and i know because that’s how much of the song i missed
i know because i played it back later with a stopwatch
fifteen seconds
that’s how long it takes for my body to reassert itself
and does it still count as falling when you find out
there’s no bottom?

and so i live a lifetime of purgatory in one week’s time with
martha sits on two chairs at once and sags through the space in the middle
as she runs out of foodstained fingers on which to count her psych ward visits
she says the food here is better than the last place but there
they had popsicles in the freezer and you know
no caffeine allowed but you can have all the sugar you want
and sarah wears the same clothes every day and never lets go of her purse
her lipstick spreads over the course of the week
until it covers her cheeks and fingertips and edges toward her nose
she says they have to let her out for pesach
but she doesn’t know what day it is this year
and louis says he’s bob marley reincarnated
but also jesus christ
in between the spaces in his teeth i can hear his music even when he’s not singing
which is almost never
and mark isn’t crazy he’s just angry
those bastards in washington, they… they…
why aren’t we as angry as mark?
and andy just drank so much he burned out his speech patterns
one grunt means light my cigarette
two means i just pissed my pants, and i
i’m lying alone in bed after my first full meal in three months
wondering what they’re writing about my failure to socialize
wondering where i fall on their spectrum of sanity
and when i finally remember how to laugh out loud it reverberates
through the time bleached overbright hallways until everyone
marthasarahlouismarkandy we’re all laughing
making nurses count heads nervously
and does it still count as flying if it was an accident?

because that’s what i call it these days.
my accident.
it took me two days to piss the pills out of my system and regain consciousness
and three more to convince them
i didn’t mean it.
they let me go for pesach, and sarah didn’t say goodbye like the others
sarah with no accident, just well intentioned relatives
and lipstick with travel lust.
they handed me my car keys and said don’t forget
you promised you were better now.
and maybe my problem is that i’ve always been too good of a liar
because i can make you believe anything, so imagine this:
i’m flying down the road, ninety miles per hour around hairpin turns
saying if i live through this too, i might be convinced to believe in your god
even if he fucks up sometimes
just like us
and i’m learning that when it comes to flying
i do it better with two feet planted firmly on the ground
grow roots straight up my spine instead of wings to hold me aloft
and so imagine this:
i’m planting seeds, hoping for the first time
that i’ll be around next year to harvest them
building my life a solid foundation and praying to gods i never believed in
that i’ll remember to use it the next time the wind blows
and i’m learning
that the clouds up there are just floating around aimlessly
and the sky is really blue, but only from a distance
and maybe from a distance
is all i really need to know about flying
until i learn
to land.