[2017] What We Lose by Zinzi Clemmons

Author:Zinzi Clemmons [Clemmons, Zinzi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

My theory is that loneliness creates the feeling of haunting.

I did my best to wake up while my father was leaving the house. I thought that if I could be up by six thirty, and see him even for a few minutes, I would feel less lonely, terrified as I was by the emptiness of their airy apartment. The antique furniture, the African artifacts and trinkets carefully chosen by my mother’s hand . . . they all seemed to breathe and sigh her name. I hoped seeing his face would make the house not feel so large, the empty space not so enervating.

But I tossed at night, every night, until the early morning, and with nowhere to be the next day, I was never awake before noon.

As soon as I got out of the shower, I packed a book in my bag and headed to my coffee shop for breakfast. I dawdled and stalled, ordering coffee upon coffee so that I wouldn’t have to go home. I read the question on the baristas’ faces: Doesn’t she have somewhere else to be? When the coffee shop closed, I would finally leave and spend the rest of the day cruising around the city in my car until it was time for my father to come home from work. Then I returned home, exhausted and lonely.

The things seemed to happen only during the day, when the apartment was empty except for me. The thermostat found itself all the way up at 73, the temperature my mother liked, too hot for me or my father. The vents puttered from the heating pipes, and it sounded just like my mother’s breath.

I hated to be alone in that apartment so much that I started showering at night, to shorten my time in the mornings. I zipped straight from my bed, washed my face, put on a change of clothes, and headed straight out the door. I made sure to come home after eight, nine on days when my father had staff meetings.

Soon my father started inquiring into my plans. When will you return to school? Perhaps you should find something to occupy your time during the day. He asked the questions halfheartedly, with little interest in my answers, and I began to realize that he was doing this out of duty—some workaholic’s ideal of busyness—and not because he was actually concerned. Most days, his eyes were empty, and I continued to avoid his gaze because I was afraid of what lurked behind.

We stopped eating dinner together every evening. Most nights, our fridge was empty. We stopped sending out our annual holiday cards with a family photo, or thoughtful, hand-lettered Thank You notes when we received a gift. Holidays were a wash. The two-foot plastic tree became the norm—my father didn’t purchase a single new tree after my mother died. All the plants in the house withered away shortly after the funeral, their brethren never to enter our household.

Before, the guiding instinct of our family was strongly intuitive, compassionate, and nurturing.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.