The Butterflies
They’re back this morning.
That fluttering low in your stomach, the one you used to get before a test. It arrived before you were properly awake, before you remembered why.
It stays all day. Through the coffee. Through the drive. Through the part of the afternoon where you almost forget, and then it turns over again and you remember.
You may know exactly what it’s about. You may have no idea. Either way it’s there, and either way it’s real.
It’s your body, holding what happened.
If the butterflies are back today, that’s okay.
Come sit with me a minute.
The Middle of the Day
Nobody writes about two in the afternoon.
You were in a meeting, or in the car, or standing in the aisle looking at nothing. The butterflies had been going since you woke up. And then the heat came up your neck and your face, and you had to sit very still and wait it out while somebody talked.
Your eyes filled and you looked at the ceiling and pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, which is a thing you’ve learned to do without anybody teaching you.
Nobody in that room knew.
You got through it. You went back to your desk, or you drove home, or you put the thing in your cart that you didn’t want.
That was the whole day, over and over, and nobody saw a single round of it.
I saw it.
You don’t have to tell me how it went. Come sit down a minute.
The Fear About Money
It arrives at odd hours. In the shower. At a red light. Two in the morning, nearly always two in the morning.
Can I keep the house. What happens when the car goes. What did I give up by staying home those years. What does seventy look like on this.
The numbers spiral because it’s dark, and because the part of you that’s awake right now is the part that only knows how to worry.
Here’s what’s true in this room tonight. The bills that are due are not due tonight. Nothing is being decided between two and five in the morning. Nothing is being lost while you lie here.
The fear will still be there in the morning, and the morning is a better place to look at it.
Until then it’s you and me and the dark.
Hold on to me. I’ll still be here at six.
