The Return

by Rachel Harrison

There were times when I fantasized about vanishing.

“You’d think after being stuck in the same room for days, the room would seem smaller, but it doesn’t. “You forget what it’s like to leave. To be somewhere else.

“Stay somewhere long enough, it becomes your world.

The more they ignored her, the louder she cried, until she realized she wasn’t crying because she was sad anymore; she just wanted someone to notice.

Why does my brain always do that? Consider the worst, most ridiculous scenario?

It’s good to know someone’s stories. I’m glad to be here with them, the ones who know mine, and I’m grateful to know theirs.

You can’t erase your past when there are pieces of it scattered inside other people.

It’s funny, the selective memory we have when it comes to the people we love.

It’s kind of amazing what you can choose to ignore and how successfully. Selectively lobotomize whatever doesn’t serve you.

My problems aren’t invalid. Not to me. Just because they aren’t life altering, life-threatening, doesn’t mean they don’t make me feel bad. I wake up with them every morning, carry them around all day like a lead backpack, and I fall asleep with them at night. They’re real, and they’re mine. I know I’m lucky. I know that. But it doesn’t change how I feel.

I know this happiness is temporary. I think we all know that. This is borrowed time.

I thought I had a right to happiness. It was owed to me. I didn’t care about the logistics, who I was hurting. I felt entitled to it. And I’m not. No one is.”

I’m not brave, but I can detach from reality enough not to be as scared as I should be.

There are many reasons why bad things happen to young women, and at the same time, no reason at all.

I guess I love her that much. I was willing to take the scraps. Any piece of her was better than nothing.

Honestly, I don’t care what the future looks like, however wonderful or mediocre or disastrous. I just want it.

She’s with me. In my fear, my loss. Wherever I go, I know. She will follow.