Buttermilk

It was 11:59.

Everyone in the house was resting but me.
The sun had long gone to bed, making way for the moon to flirt with Andromeda.
The crickets were wrapping up their freestyle session in the back alley between the refrigerator and old cupboards.
And I’m sure the breakdancing silverfish made the most of the beatboxing faucet drips that I hadn’t fixed in over a week.
I had my headphones on, amplifying the sound of my breathing.
I could hear my heartbeat pulsing in my right ear.
All I kept thinking about was that moment I never got the chance to say, “Goodbye.”
There was nothing that I could do to keep you from going.
No prayer.
No plea.
No part of me could have prevented you from leaving.
There was nothing that I could do.
But if I could.
I would have kissed you goodnight more times than I did, hoping that the smell of my addiction to coffee permanently on my breath would wake you up to my presence.
I would have made a gazillion pounds of Jell-O and secretly placed your feet in the bowl as the gelatin hardened, so you wouldn’t be able to leave.
I would have rocked you to sleep and it would have been so soothing that your body wouldn’t want to get up.
Yeah…I’m that good.
See…
If you had stayed…
We would have been inseparable.
I would have sampled your smile and looped your laughter all while rhyming sixteen bars over the syncopation of your heartbeat, giving hip hop hope for another day.
We could have been the reincarnation of Eric B and Rakim, playing Follow the Leader because I Know You Got Soul.
And we would have had everyone fiending for the microphone every time we moved the crowd.
We would have gotten lost in each other’s dreams and would have never woken up.
I could have exchanged my haikus for your sonnets, creating the most beautiful haikonnet ever made.
That’s right…I said haikonnet.
Don’t trip.
I imagine that your smile would have left me stranded at the intersection of nervousness and giddy.
Your eyes would tell stories of your deepest desires.
Your fingers would play congas on my cheeks, slapping the laughter out of me.
We would have been amazing together.
Til this day I don’t understand why you had to go.
I can pretend like I do and even say God had a plan.
But damn it sucks.
It’s confusing.
It’s confusing like…
Skydiving upwards.
Or reading Braille with your eyes.
Or leaving mutes speechless.
It’s like…
Vegans eating prime rib cooked medium rare…a la carte…so you know there are no vegetables on the side.
It’s like…
Hitler high fiving Jesus as groups and groups and thousands and thousands of people wait for their bread and fish.
It’s like…
Soy hamburgers.
Yuck!!!
It’s like…
David Duke fighting for the equal rights of all people.
Or an arachnophobic exterminator.
Or falling up flights of stairs after tripping over my own stubbornness.
It’s confusing like Richard Simmons.
But I remember that night like it was yesterday.
Your brothers were fast asleep and I waited in fear.
I sat slumped over the couch hoping time would hurry up so I wouldn’t have to wait helpless anymore.
It was 11:59.
And your mom couldn’t do anything to keep you from going either.
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