i smiled the whole way home to show the kids there are safe spaces left in the world after all.

I stopped on the corner and opened my phone and began writing things down. It took me forever to get anywhere.  Decidedly, I was going to take a more accurate inventory.
1. adenoma, benign
2. hyperparathyroidism
3. calcium levels are fine so it’s can’t be adenoma–don’t need surgery, that’s what she said. “Your calcium levels are fine but I can refer you to an endocrinologist if you’re still worried.” This isn’t psychosomatic.
4. my diet is poor but I have been actively infusing calcium for months and sneaking dairy.
5. possibly, the enlargement has shrunk as my diet has gotten better.
6. tell doctor about years of malnourishment and drinking tea. tea affects absorption.
I get plenty of sunlight, even in winter, I use a sunlamp and take vitamin d supplement.
7. mood swings related to diet.
8. anorexia related to choking.
9. blood sugar drops effects mood.
10. hyperparathyroidism causes depression.
My partner once told me I should run for mayor. It takes me forever to get anywhere, I am always going back in time and forward and listening to the wind thirty blocks north.
“You’re the most ethical person I have ever met and not easily corrupted. You wouldn’t be persuaded and you love truth telling. I think you’re allergic to lies.”
“I would never be mayor.”
“Why?”
“The pressure.
I can whine, complain and bitch but also fix a bunch of things. My criticism is the blimp that carries me.
` 11. fatigue. have been sleeping more which helps. not working helps. rest helps. I have been eating better.
“You’re also a big shiny light,” he said.
“I don’t want to be mayor. I don’t want to be noticed. I just want things fixed.”
My moods move houses. They jump from room to room. Something that feels uncontrollable might possibly be uncontrollable.
12. poltergeist
I wanted a reason, not an excuse. That’s when I first called her.
13. Lilith
“I just think you have exceptional talent you may be wasting drinking.”
And then you go backwards.
12. History of drinking. What do several unchecked concussions do to a body? Vitamin depletion? Dehydration? Liver and kidney detox.
11. What does incessant walking due to the knees, the back, while carrying groceries to make it feel “productive?”?
10. What does caffeine do? Active urination from caffeine. Dry body leads to excessive water intake. Lots of urination
What does love feel like?
“I used to never sleep.”
“Oh yeah,” he rolled over. “And now?”
Looking up at the ceiling, I thought carefully.
“Then one day I learned I could walk through dreams.”

“Datura moon”

“I need a witness.”
“Well go ahead, cat, choose your victim.”

“two of swords” or “the act of maiming things”

“Well, I moved a lot also. And I was involved with a community I no longer relate to. Several communities in fact.”
She ignored me.
“You don’t have health insurance?”
“No. Lots of people don’t have health insurance. Or savings. Most people have 100 to 1000 extra at any given moment. That’s it.”
She nodded but I knew she wasn’t listening.
“Having a thyroid disorder is one of the most common disorders.”
“Is that what I have?”
She didn’t look at me every time she spoke. She looked at the computer and the chart.
“I am waiting to get the blood work back. We will check your thyroid levels and calcium levels first. And b12 since you’re vegan.”
I am common. I am a common plague of malnourishment, a childhood diet of sugar and an adult diet of caffeing, overproductivity and poor self esteem, loose plans based on insecurity and no savings. I have no future plans. I don’t think about retirement or my parent’s retirement. I don’t wonder what would happen if I suddenly became paralyzed or sick. I am of average weight and height and financial status. My friends say I am pretty but my mirrors are currently covered with sheets so I can’t fact check and even when I can, a crone stares back and she is aging. I am of average intelligence in many ways except a friend told me I “synthesize quickly” and am above average but I get lost daily. I can do calculations in my head and predict and follow trends, but I can’t control my impulses enough to fit in. I am saved by the things that scare you: faith, the divine art of timing, gambling, cunning, luck and magic. I am also white and educated. My nails are long and acrylic and I feel guilty but I state patiently
“I am having trouble swallowing and sometimes I choke and spit my food out. My jaw gets tired of chewing and I feel like I can’t swallow. Sometimes I can’t swallow well on command either and I have sinus problems, seasonal allergies and post nasal drip. Once my lymph nodes got so swollen from post nasal drip, I couldn’t swallow.”
“Like a tightness?” he asked.
“Yes, I can’t tell if something is there.”
They stuck a tube up my nostrils and down my throat.
“You are fine. I don’t see anything. Your tonsils are fine and I see no blockages. Your ultrasound showed you have a bump beneath your thyroid that is probably benign. Your thyroid is fine. We need a blood test for calcium levels. In the meantime, I am prescribing you something for reflux to help with mucus.In six to eight weeks, if you don’t notice an improvement in swallowing, we will investigate further.”
“Ok.”
But she said
“Your parathyroid is slightly enlarged. It’s amazing you can feel that. You are sensitive.
“The other doctor said it was a bump, not an enlarged parathyroid.”
“Yes, our parathyroid is enlarged but your calcium levels are fine. I can refer you to an endocrinologist but your blood work is fine.”
“Ok, but it’s the language I am confused about.”
“We can discuss that again when I see you on November 1. This is just a five minute script consult to make you you get the prescription.”
“I know but I am anxious and he said…”
“Did he look at your throat?”
“I told you he put a tube down my nostril and it went to my throat and saw nothing but he said it was a bump below my thyroid.”
“YOUR PARATHYROID IS ENLARGED.”
She raised her voice like my hearing is the issue. Hyperparathyroidism causes forgetfulness and confusion. She didn’t tell me that. I researched it.
“I know, but the language he used was different and I am not a medical student so I am confused and thyroid disorders cause mood issues…”
“This is not about your thyroid, it’s your parathyroid. It’s responsible for calcium.”
The other doctor had calmly stated, “problems with your parathyroid can cause major issues in your body including trouble swallowing.”
He said it causes problems in the body, parathyroid, bump.
“You keep interrupting me. I have an anxiety disorder.”
“Do you see a therapist?”
I ignored her constant interruption.
“Yes, and I am telling you that navigating a health care system without having health insurance while suffering from dysphagia and not knowing what is wrong is triggering. I am confused and…”
“Am I not explaining it to you? Did I not go over everything?”
“You’re cold.”
Jump off the bridge, Cat.
She snorted, “I am sorry I am not sweet.”
“It’s not that you’re not sweet, it’s that you’re not listening and I am triggered.”
She faced me again, had raised her voice every time, and said
“I am taking up other people’s time to explain this to you. Your blood work is fine. Your parathyroid is enlarged and it’s great you can feel that but we will go over your blood work on November 1. If we need to, we will refer you to an endocrinologist. And I didn’t look at the ultrasound, only read the report and the report said enlarged parathyroid.”
He said, “Parathyroid enlargement can cause major issues in the body including swallowing issues.”
They are saying two different things, Cat.
I began to cry on accident, overwhelmed by the discrepancy and not remembering accurately enough or understanding enough to explain my fears. We had been talking max ten to fifteen minutes. I had watched the door the entire time and other people were in here the same amount, sometimes longer. Most of them could not speak English well. This should be easy for her.
“Are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
“No.”
“I think you should.”
I am common, average of average income, navigating the health system without health insurance or solid knowledge of the body. I hold trauma in my body and could hear a pindrop upstairs from the basement or a change of movement of blood in my body or a breeze near your door. Any change in my body is felt  and then felt again in my brain. I can feel a drop in temperature or a minute tick by or an unkind word spoken about me from a distance and I can feel my parathyroid growing, my bones snapping, my joints inflamed, unspecified pain and forgetfulness and I don’t cry in front of people.
“I am not seeing a psychiatrist and will speak with you further on November 1 but you should learn to hold space for reactions like this when I have explained that I have no health insurance and am navigating a health care system that is new to me while admitting I have anxiety.”
I walked home recounting every village I had burned. I was proud of myself for not making a scene. What I should have said to the callous, rude bitch is parathyroidism can cause major disruption in the body including joint pain, bone breakage and trouble swallowing and if I choke to death, my reason for coming to this clinic, between now and November 1, I hope you remember me every night right before you go to sleep. Somewhere near, someone opened their phone to watch me and a cyclist hit a car door.

“I remember what he said,” I said out loud watching the hand turn to a person across the street, “He said adenoma, probably non cancerous. She didn’t fucking care.”

“the act of naming things”

With my eyes closed, I could breathe. My limbs, fingers, lips, face; the entire body was numb. I had looked up once when the snow started to be greeted by black and white static. The branches were obscured by my body’s placement in the net and my neck was so tense I could barely move it. I closed my eyes to breathe. Breathe. I am breath. I was breathing, sleepy, going to sleep. It must have been five fifteen by now when they all started howling.
“How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m hanging in there.”
I laughed. I just started laughing. As they howled, I laughed maniacally. This is everything I had ever seen, heard, visualized. Everything I thought, exploding and in the middle of being stalked, flanked. I laughed and they howled louder.
How are you doing? she whispered. Are you ready to come down?
“No!” I screamed to the air. “I’ll play your fucking game.”
She was right behind me.
“You remember the agreement?”
“I remember everything. And I will play your stupid fucking game.”
“You have once chance, sweet one.”
“That’s all I ever need.”
“Not really a choice is it?”
And from my count there were eight wolves now. Four alphas, three betas, and one intermediary. I hung in the middle like that reviewing the rules.
1. Do not ask to see your death.
“Are you ready, sweet one?’
2. Trust the witch.
She blew hot air on my back to remind me.
3. Write it.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Something you want to say?”
“You fucking bitch.”
“Temper, temper, Ms. Salt, but you work better under pressure after all.”
She circled around me so I could see her green eyes again: slitted and vicious, lined in black pen.
“Watch the way a tongue freezes and fingers fall off. ”
I had done this already, burned most of it or erased it. Hid notebooks. Lost dreams.
“When the wind blows, you’ll feel them like an electrical storm.”
It happens twice, something said.
“Like a fire.”
Her tongue was red and wet.
“Guess who has the rest?”
I will fucking kill you.
“Girl, you better run.”

“Ava,” was overly comfortable to the point where I tensed. “This is a hard time. There is no power and no phones and no electricity. I understand your mistrust and my mistrust. We can sit and warm for a bit and we don’t have to talk. Truthfully, I’ve been deluding myself thinking this would get better but it may not. I have limited supplies. I hope your cat is ok and you are welcome to stay the night.”
Begin.
“To be honest, I’m nervous. I miss my friends and family and no one has checked on me. I live alone with my cat and I became frightened immediately. There were riots near me, looting. I didn’t get as much as I needed and didn’t want to go outside. I’ve been slowly freezing. It’s been hard.’
I wasn’t crying so much as allowing tears to roll down my face. I didn’t want to cry or face reality. Not like this. Not with a stranger. Abruptly, I stopped, bit my lip, waited for the mood to pass. Don’t think about your family. We stayed in silence save the flicker of wood catching, staying on fire.
“We don’t have to talk about it. I have some supplies. I can take you home in the morning. Your cat has fur, right? She will be ok. Genevieve?”
“Yes,” I sniffled. “She hides when I leave.”
I laughed a little.
“I know because when I went out the first two times, I had to find her when I got back.”
I wiped my nose afraid to speak.
“You can walk me half way. I don’t want anyone to know where I live that I don’t know. No offense.”
“Understood.”
I twirled the straw and stared at it. How many did I have at home? And how many more would it take? I felt him staring but made no move to speak. He was waiting. I was angry.
“I have a favorite game,” I said.
“Yeah,” he shifted his body so he was taller but leaning forward,  arms crossed.
We held gaze. I am unafraid of you.
“It’s called thirteen stories.”
His eyes lit up. He held back the adorable knowing I was actually an adult, capable and mortified of my display of nerves. His eyes gave it away.
“It’s a guessing game.”
“Sounds like it could pass the time.”
“You have to figure out which ending is right. That means I tell each story and at the end you tell me which one is true. BUT,” I stuck my finger in the air and smiled, inviting him to participate, “the audience asks the question I am answering. So everyone can play.”
“What do you mean?”
“So… you can ask things like how did you get here or what’s the weirdest thing about you or what’s your biggest secret or…”
“I get it,” he interrupted.
“Ok.”
“Thirteen versions?”
“Yeah.”
“Long game.”
“I’m terse.”
“I can see that.”
He actually reached up and scratched his chin.
“What happens if I guess right?”
“I tell you a secret.”
“Oh yeah? So then I wouldn’t pick that for my question.
I bit my lip. I was warming, fed, becoming too excited. Temper.
“How about you tell me the weirdest thing about you.”
“For the stories or if you guess right?”
“If I guess right, and for the stories, you tell me how you got here tonight, generally, like to this area, past patrol, survived alone, the past eight days, where your friends are. I have a feeling you are well versed in the art of tales.”
I kept looking down.
“And you’re sure you will know the difference between the two?”
“Between a truth and a lie?”
“No.”
I did look up and for a moment prayed to be giant.
“Between the weirdest thing about me and how I got here.”
He smiled.
Begin, dear sweet forlorn child.

“Ava,” was overly comfortable to the point where I tensed. “This is a hard time. There is no power and no phones and no electricity. I understand your mistrust and my mistrust. We can sit and warm for a bit and we don’t have to talk. Truthfully, I’ve been deluding myself thinking this would get better but it may not. I have limited supplies. I hope your cat is ok and you are welcome to stay the night.”
Begin.
“To be honest, I’m nervous. I miss my friends and family and no one has checked on me. I live alone with my cat and I became frightened immediately. There were riots near me, looting. I didn’t get as much as I needed and didn’t want to go outside. I’ve been slowly freezing. It’s been hard.’
I wasn’t crying so much as allowing tears to roll down my face. I didn’t want to cry or face reality. Not like this. Not with a stranger. Abruptly, I stopped, bit my lip, waited for the mood to pass. Don’t think about your family. We stayed in silence save the flicker of wood catching, staying on fire.
“We don’t have to talk about it. I have some supplies. I can take you home in the morning. Your cat has fur, right? She will be ok. Geneviece?”
“Yes,” I sniffled. “She hides when I leave.”
I laughed a little.
“I know because when I went out the first two times, I had to find her.”
I wiped my nose afraid to speak.
“You can walk me half way. I don’t want anyone to know where I live that I don’t know. No offense.”
“Understood.”
I twirled the straw and stared at it. How many did I have at home? And how many more would it take? I felt him staring but made no move to speak. He was waiting. I was angry.
“I have a favorite game,” I said.
“Yeah,” he shifted his body so he was taller but leaning forward,  arms crossed.
We held gaze. I am unafraid of you.
“It’s called thirteen stories.”
His eyes lit up. He held back the adorable knowing I was actually an adult, capable and mortified of my display of nerves. His eyes gave it away.
“It’s a guessing game.”
“Sounds like it could pass the time.”
“You have to figure out which ending is right. That means I tell each story and at the end you tell me which one is true. BUT,” I stuck my finger in the air and smiled, inviting him to participate, “the audience asks the question I am answering. So everyone can play.”
“What do you mean?”
“So… you can ask things like how did you get here or what’s the weirdest thing about you or what’s your biggest secret or…”
“I get it,” he interrupted.
“Ok.”
“Thirteen versions?”
“Yeah.”
“Long game.”
“I’m terse.”
“I can see that.”
He actually reached up and scratched his chin.
“What happens if I guess right?”
“I tell you a secret.”
“Oh yeah? So then I wouldn’t pick that for my question.
I bit my lip. I was warming, fed, becoming too excited. Temper.
“How about you tell me the weirdest thing about you.”
“For the stories or if you guess right?”
“If I guess right, and for the stories, you tell me how you got here tonight, generally, like to this area, past patrol, survived alone. I have a feeling you are well versed in the art of tales.”
I kept looking down.
“And you’re sure you will know the difference between the two?”
“Between a truth and a lie?”
“No.”
I did look up and for a moment prayed to be giant.
“Between the weirdest thing about me and how I got here.”
He smiled.
Begin, dear sweet forlorn child.

“Brevity is the soul of the witch, after all.”

–witches, sluts, feminists

“I’m dead.”

The mirror said nothing back but my face began melting slightly. This could be the weed,  I thought.

“No, this is purgatory.”

I was quite certain this was purgatory. My face slid outside of view, gray and drooping. Rearranging itself like that,  I tendentiously began my plight to prove I was in on it too. My phone sat on the dresser but soon you would hear from me and soon I would convince you of my death. My face melted like that and I watched it for minutes, ten at the least. In theory, ten minutes is nothing. Try it. Watch your face for ten minutes. In retrospect, everything is devastating. As a series of events, life is here to corrupt and kill you.

“This is purgatory,” I repeated to the mirror.

And then the laughter. It was the laughter that should have given it away.

“Yes, I am really dead.”

Prove it, Cat. Jump off the bridge, Cat.

“Yes.”

The first half of the time in line for the log flume, I kept reiterating how terrible it would have been if we’d gone on together.
“I mean, the minute you saw the family in the little log flume car, you would have freaked. You would have panicked.”
“Yeah, it would have been a real disaster.”
“I mean you would have honestly had a panic attack on a roller coaster; your worst fear.”
“Yep.”
“Can you imagine?”
That’s all I kept saying, enamored by this, enamored by all of this; the prospect of the nightmare coming to fruition so heavily like that. Her entire day was built around watching me get on roller coasters she felt unprepared for only to almost have the opportunity to be flung in the air unprepared, forced to face it and I was obsessed with this nightmare. We were hungry and this wasn’t helping.
“You don’t know where we are,” she had said to me.
I looked down. The hike should have been over soon but we were further than we ever were. We were weaving through trees. The evergreens were in the distant. Green meant car, I believed. I prided myself not on direction, but luck. We were not on a trail.
“Cat, it’s almost noon. You said this would take four hours tops. It’s three and a half and I haven’t seen people or anyone.”
“We accidentally got on the black trail.”
“Ok, but how long before we get off the black trail?”
She emphasized it liked that. The black trail. She did that only when she was angry.
“Probably another hour and a half.”
A crow called. Caught lying, kitty.
“It must be noon.”
She said nothing. We walked for another twenty minutes before she said.
“We are fucked, aren’t we?”

With my eyes closed, I could breathe. My limbs, fingers, lips, face; the entire body was numb. I had looked up once when the snow started to be greeted by black and white static. The branches were obscured by my body’s placement in the net and my neck was so tense I could barely move it. I closed my eyes to breathe. Breathe. I am breath. I was breathing, sleepy, going to sleep. It must be five fifteen by now when they all started howling.