AUSTRALIAN SHADE SAILS

I skinned my knee and now it stings. It is red and raw and peeling. That probably is not a very ladylike thing to say. It is probably not a very ladylike thing to do, skin your knee. Or any other part of your body. It burns, now, kind of like the sun if you stay out for too long, and your skin bubbles up. But different. Like when oil pops out of the pan and onto your skin. Instantaneous pain that is gone as soon as you notice it. But it burns until you hold it under cold water. It burns like that, but different.
I’m sitting here looking at my knee and I don’t know why. It makes me human, this missing layer of skin. It’s round, but wobbly. How can a shape be wobbly? Like a painting done by shaky hands trying to impress their parents, trying to earn their praise and love. “Look what they’ve done! Isn’t it wonderful!” Wobbly like the crack in your voice when you lie.
My mom yells up at me do I want food. I think for a minute. Am I hungry? I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. The difference between hunger and pain is indecipherable. My lungs feel so heavy, like they’ve been flooded. Who would do that? Why would anyone flood my lungs? Do people hate me? I don’t understand. If they aren’t flooded why is it so hard to breathe. Blinking isn’t natural anymore, I feel it. Every time. My eyes close, they pause, they open. Usually they don’t reach the bottom lid, they just block my vision momentarily. Why is breathing so difficult? Why is blinking so conscious? I thought this stuff was supposed to be unfelt, unnoticed, unacknowledged.
I thought I answered my mom but she’s standing in my doorway, watching me. Sometimes I forget to answer out loud. People will ask me something or confide in me expecting a response, and I deliver in my head. As if I think I can share my reaction telepathically. But that isn’t even it. It’s not a thought. I just don’t answer. I think I do. I feel the words in my mouth, my eyes blink and head turn in whatever direction I need to project my voice and I do. I feel it in my lungs. Except it isn’t really happening. I’m not really answering. I’m not really talking. The situation isn’t really unfolding. It’s just in my head. And it’s become a problem for people. My mom is starting to think something is wrong with me.
“I’m sorry. I thought I answered. No, I’m good thanks.”
Oh, the look on her face. Such a good mother, such concern. But Mom I’m fine. I say this in my head, not out loud. Because she hasn’t said anything, so why would I tell her I’m fine? It’s okay to keep this in my head.
“I’m worried.” Obviously or you wouldn’t be standing in my door.
“Don’t be.” I smile. It’s so fake, I feel my eyes close again, the half thing. Where they don’t fully shut, like they’re afraid if they don’t watch for a minute something horrible might happen. But no, it’s not even that. I’m just too tired. I’m exhausted, all the time. So tired that my eyelids feel like bricks being smashed up against one another if I try to close them. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t know what to do. I’m sorry, Mom. I wish I was better. I wish you didn’t have to worry about me or ask or think you needed to check up on me. I can feed myself, it’s okay. She blinks her own eyes halfway but not because she feels every nerve in her body, but because she is holding back a tear. I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. Just go away, you don’t need to see me or be worried. I’m fine. I keep it in my head because I don’t want you to worry I’m fine I’m fine really it’s okay just go I don’t want food no thank you though I really do appreciate it. I promise I’m fine.
She walks down the steps and everything is cracking. The stairs are so old they sag in the middle. Years of wear and tear. Years of running, from each other, from outsiders, from ourselves, from unknowns. It’s a scary place in this house. The hallways hold monsters who will jump out at you if you aren’t prepared. They always know. I’m the one they usually get. I don’t know why. Maybe everyone else is just better at not seeing. They seem to be fine with not seeing. I don’t know how they do it. I want to not see. I want to unsee. It’s too late. Let me unsee the things I’ve seen. Let me unhear the words that tied the noose around my neck.
I’m just going to lay down for a while. My back is hurting. My lips are cracked and bleeding but I don’t know how that can be because I haven’t bitten them today. They just are bleeding and it hurts but not really because I don’t feel it. No actually I do. Because I feel everything. The pillow is so light and fluffy and sweet that I feel it too. Oh, my head is hurting. Why am I laying here? Why is the light shining through the blinds like that? The lines it makes are heartbreaking. No one else thinks this. No one else sees this.
I’m going to sit up now. Oh. The clock says I laid there for an hour. How did that happen? It was just a minute because the softness became uncomfortable. How is that possible? That it was uncomfortable and that an hour passed? What is

View of new sliding patio doors, from inside the kitchen. The doors have retractable mini-blinds between the thermal glass panes. (It faces west.) Our male Seal-Point Siamese kitty, Leo, is sitting in his favorite spot, on top of the kitty condo with the afternoon sun shining through. All three cats thoroughly enjoy the new doors - especially in the evening with only the screen door between them and all the sights, sounds, and smells from outside.