I’m exhausted.
Each night, I stay on the Internet until I feel the paper-thin light of dawn fingering its way through the curtains. I read stories about stars. I read reviews of diet pills. I scroll through endless Tumblr pages of women thinner than I am. Endless Instagram pages. Google image searches. I look at them and look at my body and look at them and get up and look in the mirror. I walk toward the mirror and away. I turn around.
I make a revolution.
I twist into one position after another. I lie on the floor and stretch. I make curves, stand, and turn.
Truth is a permanent revolution.
I’m covered in bruises.
My boss is here. We go about the day as usual. Every hour, I make a new carafe. I clean the bathroom. I am always on the schedule to do this. I unload shipments of Chicken BLT Salad Sandwiches, Turkey Havarti Sandwiches, Chonga Bagels, 8-Grain Rolls, Almond Cookies, Apple Fritters, Blueberry Oat Bars and Scones.
I talk to the regular customers. They like me but seem not to be as exuberant today.
I drink as many free cups of coffee as I want, which is six, so far.
I take frequent cigarette breaks. In the August heat, I sweat through my requisite white collared shirt. My skin is moist and I wipe off the sweat with my apron, then drop it into my lap.
I blow smoke into its folds.
John texts me.
Do we have everything we need?
I have it all. I’m ready.
This is going to be big.
Truth is in constant revision; truth can only approximate reality. I say this like a mantra.
Truth is a vision — say it.
I don’t believe that John believes.
As I’m putting my apron back on, my boss comes outside.
Leave the apron inside when you smoke.
I wasn’t wearing it.
You’re blowing smoke on it.
I wasn’t.
You were. I just watched you through the window.
He lets the door close behind him and crosses his arms. I’ve never liked my boss.
I was aiming it that way, I say.
Would you agree that this is not working out?
Would I agree?
You working here.
Oh, I knew what you meant.
He sits down at a plastic table and invites me to join him. Two of our regular customers walk past us. They wave. I wave back.
People have told me you’re giving free coffee to customers.
Just my boyfriend, one time.
They say you’ve been doing it a lot.
Not true.
Regardless, one time is too much.
I wipe the sweat from my face with the end of my apron. Inside, my coworkers talk and look at us.
Enough to fire someone?
There are other things, he says.
Like what?
It’s probably best not to say. I think you know, anyway.
Hunger burns and rises in my chest.
Are you firing me?
I think it’s probably best.
I’m on fire.
I look at the courthouse. Men and women in suits step lightly as needles into its marble entrance.
Do you know that Starbucks uses almost a million gallons of milk every year? I say.
I did not know that.
Fuck you. Did you know that the Cinnamon Chip Scone has more calories in it than a Quarter Pounder With Cheese?
He looks away.
That’s fucking disgusting, I say. You self-righteous prick. You’re a terrorist who works at a fast food restaurant.
I stand and take off my apron and throw it in his face.
Have fun cleaning the bathroom, shithead.
Two possible scenarios exist for the expulsion of a star from a binary system.
In the first, a member of the system explodes in a supernova, kicking the other member out.
In the second, a binary system collides with a third star, changing the stars’ velocities.
This change in velocity causes a member to gather energy and escape as a runaway.
Its matter points back to its former association. We can trace its origin.
It’s been less than a month. John calls me fifteen minutes before his flight is supposed to leave Chicago to tell me he’s not on the plane. I’m sitting on the hood of my car in the Walgreens parking lot, reading a Star Magazine. My trunk is full of combustibles, wire cutters, black clothing, bleach.
Dog is dead, he says.
No.
She chewed through my Ativan. I don’t know how she found it.
John, I’m so sorry. Jesus, fuck. At least you know she didn’t suffer.
I thought I left it in the cabinet. She puked all over the bed.
I’m so sorry.
I listen to him cry for a long time. Two girls cross the parking lot carrying bottles of Coke and bags of Skittles. They climb into a red Jaguar and the radio comes on at full volume with the engine, shaking the air.
John’s still crying.
Where is she now?
She’s here. I just found her.
Just now?
Just now, he says.
Like, how long ago?
Ten minutes.
Burn.
I don’t get it. You were supposed to be at the airport hours ago. Were you sleeping before then?
He doesn’t answer. I feel angry. I listen to him cry. I try to feel pity but I can’t.
You’re an animal. I’m an animal.
I can’t do this, I say.
Yes, you can. Show me you’re with me. He blows his nose.
You lied.
About what?
Loving me.
Dog is dead.
You killed her.
Excuse me?
Murderer.
That’s not fair.
Burn. We’re through.
What do you mean?
Fuck you.
Are you breaking up with me?
This is over.
Can’t this wait?
I don’t love you.
My dog is dead. I doubt your commitment.
You should. I’m alone and I like it.
You’re crazy.
You deserve what you’ve done.
You don’t know me.
Who are you? I can’t be with a dog killer. She needed you and you killed her.
You deserve to be alone. You’re fucked.
Don’t call me anymore. I don’t know you.
I can’t believe this.
This will blow up in your face.
It already has.
Hi, Mom.
Can I talk to you for a minute?
I got my grades. They’re not as good as last semester’s.
I’ve been going through some personal things.
I’ve ascended.
I don’t have an appetite. Sleep. Or friends.
I’m very lonely.
I’m stuck in this terrible cycle.
It seems everyone has disappeared. They don’t answer. I stay up all night on the Internet.
I’m confused.
I’m endlessly scrolling, scrolling.
I can’t leave the house. I’m insane.
I read books on animal liberation. I feel they’re about me. I feel it’s me, Mom. I haven’t been okay. I need you. Help me. Please help.
I want you to be proud.
There’s something else.
We broke up.
John lies. He only cares about himself.
I’ve been used.
Not by him. In general.
Mom, listen. I want to say I love you.
Do you believe me?
Please believe me.
I’m cold.
I’m lost.
I’m afraid.
And angry.
Desperate.
All the time. I’ve come unbound. I’m fading away.
I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I’m burning out.
You make time for what you think is important. Didn’t you say that?