And I had somewhere to be that night. We would all meet up at Club Midnight. I would sit on a couch. I would drink my drinks. There would be pills to take, and clouds would form.
For a while, I would hear a plane and fall to the snow. And I would wait for the plane to pass overhead. Or for the plane to crash. Or for my brain to tell me what next.
And once, lying in the snow, I watched as a bird crashed into a bird. I hadn’t known such a thing could happen. And there was no one around to tell it to. And I don’t know what I would have said, besides.
And once, lying in the snow, I watched as the moon moved across the sky. And I hadn’t known that one could watch it move.
And once I looked up into a face. And if I were someone else, I would tell you more. But this is not the place for adjectives. This is not the place for any words. Not even, Get up. Not even, You’re fine. Not even, It’s not your fault.
SIGNIFIER
Because words are about desire and desire is about the long-tailed birds in the trees.
And desire is about the long-tailed birds as long-tailed birds. Not as metaphor. Not as signifier. Not as anything other than what they are but long-tailed birds switching from branch to branch.
Predatory, this guy I once met called these long-tailed birds.
Magpies, he called them, because they were, and what did I know of birds.
They will chew off your face, he said.
He said, Your pretty face, and touched my face.
When I watch through a window, I feel watched through the window. When I press my face to a screen, I feel pressed from the other side.
But nothing in trees wants to know what goes on in rooms. Even when I scratch like a cat at the screen. Even when I make sounds with my tongue and teeth.
And when I send words from my brain to the tops of the trees, by which I mean stars, by which I mean something else, the universe, even then.
I was taught to do this as a child. I was taught this would work, sending words from my brain. Taught by whom, I can’t remember.
It was someone who knew about that which listens.
It was someone lying still on the grass, saying, Come here pretty, saying, Not you.
It was someone who knew the universe.
It was a father, of course I remember.
Some father lying still on the grass.
Some father still lying after dark.
As the world went on around him.
And the world went on without him.
But this isn’t a story about the father.
It’s a story about a hike in the woods. It was me and this guy and this friend he had. I never wanted to go on the hike. I mean I never thought it would be a real hike. I thought we’d find a rock, just me and the guy, and sit and stare at the view.
But the friend was in from out of town. He wanted to go on the hike with us. He knew all the trails that no one else knew.
And he would drive, the guy said.
Come on, he said.
We were standing at my door. I hadn’t dressed for walking up trails. I’d only dressed for sitting on a rock. I’d dressed for charming this one guy. And here was the guy, dressed to go on an actual hike. And there was the friend, dressed for a hike, as well.
The friend called out, Do you have a hat.
He called out, Do you have real shoes.
His voice was such a tough guy’s voice. It seemed like work to talk like that. All the work it took to try to be that guy.
I said, No.
I said, Do you.
He was wearing sturdy shoes. And a sturdy coat. And he stood all tough. It seemed like too much work.
He said, I have real shoes.
I laughed.
I said, Do you.
Trust me when I say I wasn’t flirting. I didn’t like the friend. Though later, this will all sound like a lie. Later, you will think new things of me. You will think some things you don’t think now.
But trust me it was the guy I liked. I wanted a date just me and him. We’d sit on a rock and pretend some things about the universe. About beauty. About other abstractions I didn’t understand.
I said to no one, Give me a cigarette.
I didn’t smoke. But I sometimes wanted a cigarette. Smoking made me feel better at times. I can’t explain it. But of course the friend walked up to me. And of course he struck the match.
And at what point does one tire of performance. At what point is it all just tiring. The friend’s performance of guy. My performance of girl. The guy I liked not even stepping in. Not lighting my cigarette himself. Too scared to get that close to me.
Just standing there like some dumb fuck.
The friend just stood there, dumb, as well.
To say I had them where I wanted them.
They were dumbstruck more than dumb.
Because I was just so fucking charming.
Because I was always just so fucking this.
Just ask my father.
Just ask his ladies.
They would say, What a charming little thing.
They would say, What a pretty little thing.
I could eat you up, is what they would say.
Inside the woods was darker than out. There were birds and bird sounds all around. The friend knew all about birds. He told us what he knew about birds. He told us what he knew about trees. I pretended not to listen. What did I care what tree was what. What birds.
Though I liked to look upward through the leaves. I wouldn’t have told this to anyone. That it gave me a feeling I can’t explain.
And at times I considered stepping off the trail. Of running wild through the woods. It would have been something, I thought. To get lost in the trees. To imagine there was no other world.
And I would have stepped off the trail if the friend hadn’t called out, Come on.
There was something he wanted to show us. It was up ahead. He was walking way too fast.
He called back to me, Let’s go.
Then he was running, and the guy was running, and I didn’t want to run. I wasn’t dressed to run. And I didn’t know what was up ahead. So I walked at my own slow pace.
There were stories from childhood I’d read of the woods. There were pictures in books I’d stared at at night. In the pictures the trees had eyes and teeth.
And there were other stories I knew of the woods. There were things that happened in the woods at night. There were woods by our house and I was told stay away.
I was told stay away from other things too. Like the dog next door, yet I fed him bones through the fence. Like the two dumb guys who came around. They wanted to fuck me. They were both so dumb.
Like my father.
I told myself, Stay away.
He will destroy you, is what I told myself.
Run away, is what I told myself.
He will turn you into him, I told myself.
You are not that whore, I told myself.
But look at me hiking in completely wrong shoes. Look at me in completely wrong clothes. Look at my fucking hair.
From far ahead the friend said, Come on, and the guy said, Come on, but I walked slowly, staring up into leaves.
My father would say, Don’t go in the woods.
I would mock him, Don’t go into the woods.
Then I would go.
At first I didn’t know what to expect.
Darkness, perhaps.
The terrible sound of owls.
Or worse.
The terrible acts of guys.
My body surrounded by what surrounded.
My body eaten, the rest left for worms.
But it wasn’t any of that.
It was far worse, of course, than that.
The friend said, Come on.
The guy said, Let’s go.
Their voices sounded far away. And here was my chance to step off the trail. My chance to save what was left to save.