This is Where I Leave You

by Jonathan Tropper

I know every one of Jen’s smiles, what they mean and where they lead.

Love made us partners in narcissism, and we talked ceaselessly about how close we were, how perfect our connection was, like we were the first people in history to ever get it exactly right.

He liked us as young children. It was when we grew older that he didn’t know what to make of us.

There’s no way to know how it will all shake out, but as far as metaphors go, you can’t do much better than shit on the good china.

Suddenly, I can’t stop seeing the footprints of time on everyone in the room. The liver spots, the multiple chins, the sagging necks, the jowls, the flaps of skin over eyes, the spotted scalps, the frown lines etched into permanence, the stooped shoulders, the sagging man breasts, the bowed legs. When does it all happen? In increments, so you can’t watch out for it, you can’t fix it. One day you just wake up and discover that you got old while you were sleeping.