Crossed Over

by Santana Knox

Now, five years later, here I was, back in the very place that forgot me.

Speed, mayhem, maximum effort.

I was meant to be a trophy, a medal, a prize, but she couldn’t hang me on a shelf.

Not bad for a total shit show.

I hated the feeling of not giving my all. What was the difference between your all and too much?

Only addressed a cavity once it hurt to the point of affecting my appetite, only paid a hospital bill once the collectors began showing up at my door. Only caught up on my utilities once they threatened to turn them off. One at a time, everything eventually got dealt with, even if my life was lived constantly playing catch up. Always behind.

Typical that she hadn’t followed along inside my head through the turmoil.

My thoughts always somehow circled back to her, just like any given road in Devil Town could somehow take you back to Skateland.

So normal. Not a mental illness in sight.

“Let’s go, Kitty.”

When you’re a woman, your anger is either childish or irrational. It’s never justified. So I didn’t care to try to explain myself anymore.

My head felt bubbly, like there was no oxygen left in my body to nourish me. This was hate. This was loathing, this was fucking… Love.