Free Association On Not Feeling Loss

Here's what I remember: when the car drove away, I knelt on the couch and watched through the window, leaning on the high, cushioned back of the thing and I cried.
It was spring and the trees outside were covered with pale pink blossoms.

Those trees are gone now.
The cat I held in my arms as I sobbed, he's gone too.

My sister had the couch for a while - she's gone and the couch? Long gone too.

When the time cleared the dust away, he did it again. He was always doing it again, he did it every chance he got. My father left and left and left again.

The first time, I cried. I sobbed as though my heart would break, just as you'd expect.

The second time, I wept into my sleeve and got over it.

The sixth or seventh, actually, that time, I left but he pushed me - I rolled away in a train compartment in England, like something out of a Harry Potter movie, he stood on the platform and watched. He did not lift his hand to wave. His arms stayed at his side. I cried that time. I sobbed again but that time, I cried because I knew I'd never care again.

The last time, he wanted me to cry. He did everything he could to make it happen. It was autumn, we stood in my sister's driveway and he pulled out every stop, he used the way he loved my sister as leverage, he used his health, his age, our distance - then he kissed me. He kissed me for the last time and for the first time it was square on the lips. It was a wet kiss.

I got into my car. Not wanting to be cruel, I kept my hands at my side. I held my hand down to keep myself from wiping any trace of him off my mouth.

But when I turned the corner - I wiped it away.

And my eyes were dry.