I do not know when or how I walked off the porch, across the lawn, and away. Past the other houses, whose owners were ending their day quietly outside. I did not stop to wonder or care what they thought of me and my yellow tube, sticking out of my nose and taped across my cheek, the loose feeding end dangling behind my ear.
I do not know what time it is now, but the sky is losing its light. The air is hot and heavy with magnolia. The tape on my cheek feels itchy. I do not have my watch on me. Or a wallet, or my phone. I left everything at 17 Swann Street, but it does not matter. I am going home.
I am going home to Matthias and my life with him, before this. I will promise him that I will eat and get better, and I will mean it. I will eat.
You will not have to worry about me.
I will throw away my running shoes.
You will see, I will eat.
Yogurt and bread and chocolate desserts and ice cream and French fries and salad dressing.
I will be fine.
We will be fine and we will sleep in the same bed tonight. And in the morning …
I run out of breath and lie. My heart pounds faster through my chest. As if to outpace it and reality catching up, I walk faster and farther away from the house. Which way is Furstenberg Street? How long must I walk to get there? What will Matthias say?
What will Matthias do? What will we both do when we come to terms with what I did? What will we do in the morning when we wake up and Matthias has to go to work?
If he sends me back I will hate him for doing it. If he does not he will hate himself. And I will kill myself, slowly and surely, one skipped meal at a time.
My breath is coming out in staccato. I break into a run anyway. I hope my lungs hold strong, not that I am giving them any other choice.
I hate the house on 17 Swann Street. The driveway where Matthias parks. I hate the porch and his back as he leaves it. I hate the thought of him driving away. I hate our empty apartment at 45 Furstenberg Street. I hate my plastic dinners, his frozen ones, my Van Gogh room, our empty bed. I want to run away with him,
but we have nowhere to go.
I sit down on the sidewalk for a minute. For a minute I let myself dream. I dream Matthias and I run away to Paris, back to our little cupboard room. It is morning in my head; coffee and bread. He plays guitar on the floor. I watch him and distract him with kisses. We get dressed and go for a walk. To the market, where we buy flowers and blackberries. Back in our room, we discard them. We spend the whole day making love.
Then my minute ends.