Savor It

by Tarah DeWitt

And after a while I just … gave up. I passed the rest of the trip in a self-induced haze. It felt like letting my vision blur, like trying to unfocus on the text of everything happening, but going through the motions anyway. It’s a trick I developed while being berated in my early days in high-end kitchens. You can still pick up the gist of what’s being screamed at you that way, but you spare yourself the sharpness. I was trying to just get here while I avoided my anxiety in the present.

“When you lose people,” I begin, and I see him instantly tense. “When you lose people and you’re forced to internalize how little control you actually have … I think in the face of that, it’s easy for everything else to feel senseless, too. Like, what’s the point of pretty clothes or a perfect night sky or any of those inconsequential things that bring us joy? Why should any of it matter when it’s all so easily wiped away?” I brave finding his eyes again. “I believe it’s either that, or … or you decide that everything matters. All of it, all that little shit. Everything in the present and how it makes you feel in those tiny moments, because you can’t possibly know when it’ll all go away. If the result of that sort of caring is what makes me too nice, then fine,” I say. “But I’m not weak for that.”

it’s also that same quality about Sage that makes it impossible to be anything but fully present when she’s around. Like when your sock slips down the inside of your shoe and it feels like your entire nervous system becomes focused there. I doubt I could let my consciousness go blurry around her if I tried.