The ankle bracelet was clunky and you had to charge it so sometimes I had to sit near a wall for about fifteen to twenty minutes. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Sit.
“How to forget everything day 62”
They stuffed myself and three black women around a metal toilet in a cage designed to hold only stray cat. One was pregnant and kept asking the time and the guard always replied “Why does it matter to you? You ain’t going nowhere.”
Grace is being able to count the beats of seconds by secretly tapping your finger on your inner thigh while the pregnant woman pees right in front of you; spreads her legs and you don’t look but it’s hard not to. In here, they just let you bleed all over your panties. Women’s cells always smell like blood. I can’t make this up. (Call your wolves). I had an idea that it was close to 1 pm but I didnt dare say anything in case I was wrong about everything. I kept looking at my shoes and hoped no one here was going to shit in this toilet but I already knew that one of us was trying to forget her cramps and I was forgetting my broken body and the pregnant woman had a man to forget and two others had to figure out a way out and the pregnant woman slid off the toilet back onto the floor.
“I’m sorry guys. I’m pregnant. I gotta go a lot.”
We nodded.
“The women who robbed the men”
Court was fine. I wore a blue button up and my long black wig that made me look like a soccer mom or a very modest witch. I barely remember a single thing except I was convicted of a first DUI due to a technicality in paperwork. I had spent all my family’s money on a lawyer who spent all his money running late night TV ads which is how we got here.
Grace is the bruise the ankle bracelet leaves so you don’t have to smell the menstrual blood fill the metal toilets all day.
“Good news. House arrest. But you gotta sit in booking for a while.”
I nodded. I remembered booking.
“How to forget everything day 61”
I arrived to the unit unrested, unkempt and generally still dehydated, not to mention completely apathetic to the presence of everyone around me. It was all a blur. The fluorescent lighting doesn’t help. It felt like day but how long had I been in the ER? They gave me an IV of water, took my vitals, made me answer questions.
“When was the last time you ate?”
And the pause between the question and the answer alarmed them.
“I didn’t eat today actually.”
I had no problem getting to the unit. Well, I was escorted but I mean I was voluntary. Well, I was on suicide watch but that felt normal to me. I had to eat so I was placed at a table with a big, black man with no hair named Aaron. He put a cup of chocolate pudding in front of me and a spoon.
“They’ve already had dinner.”
What time is it?
“I’m vegan.”
I looked down when I spoke, ashamed at my request. I should be grateful for anything right now. He kind of eyed me for a second. I guess he was waiting to see if I would eat it and out of my periphery I saw him nod so he may have been planning this all along. I had a red bracelet on so no one could leave me alone. I looked over directly at him whisper to the man outside who stepped in.
“Hey.”
He kind of politely waved, bald head too but slimmer than his friend and had a goatee. He never told me his name. Aaron returned with applesauce, sat down in front of me and slid it across.
“Vegan.”
“Yes.”
“They said you don’t eat.”
“Yes.”
“I’m gonna watch you eat.”
“Well aren’t you an angel.”
I hated being watched. It took me one whole minute to pull the tab off if we were counting but Aaron didn’t say anything. I was slow when I was watched. You can’t make a mistake. I placed it neatly next to me and picked up the little plastic spoon and took the tiniest bite I could for fear of my jaw locking closed as I felt the sugar hit my teeth and then the viscous goo. I placed the spoon back on the table.
“What, no way, uh uh. You gotta EAT.”
“I am eating, Aaron.”
He froze. When you say a man’s name back to him like that, hey lose control. I picked the spoon back up and took another bite to show him.
“I’m eating.”
I took a few more bites to assuage him and then stopped.
“I don’t like to be rushed.”
He was immediate with his returns.
“I see that.”
I sat with my arms crossed in my lap waiting for him to leave but then I glimpsed at the red bracelet. He caught me. I will call you astute Aaron.
“So…is starvation the way you want to go?”
I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. What to say here. You have to be careful in hospitals. You have to be careful in court and with doctors and with landlords. You always have to be careful.
“Of course not. I would always jump off a bridge. Be dramatic about it.”
I shrugged like I really meant it and was cool with it.
“Oof that would hurt,” he leaned back in his chair a little, crossed his hands over his lap.
“So does everything.”
I finished the applesauce in front of him and he didn’t ask any more questions.He escorted me to my room and I saw that I was sharing the room with an older white woman who I knew immediately was trouble. I could tell because when I walked in she said,
“Get the fuck out of here you polak bitch.”
It was hard not to react.
I don’t remember this but my mom said that I borrowed my money
from my brother to hire the best DUI lawyer in town. The one in all the commercials. I don’t remember this. But how could I? I had hit my head once on a metal railing and then again against my steering wheel driving 45 miles an hour?My car was covered in battery acid and I still had to pay to get it out of the impoundment.
“Everyone hates drug addicts. “
I said this driving my car to the lawyer.
“You drove here?” He said. “They took your license. You aren’t allowed to drive.”
I looked at him puzzled like the way a puppy looks at the red ball for the first time.
“Don’t tell me anymore,” he said.
Oh but so hard not to. What I wanted to say was I’m still drunk from last night. I let it be and drove home anyway. When the will to live is low, you drive over bridges so fast.
And I lived through that.
How to forget everything day 6”
grace is the way your bones reset themselves
inside of your chest on the way home from
the police station
and the bail provided by your ex.
“My phone is shattered,” I said aloud to him.
what was more concerning is the way I flinched
when the seatbelt touched me.
the bruise was black and thick
and formed.
it was a little hard to breathe.
“I can’t believe they didn’t take you to the emergency room,”
he shook his head like this was
the first time injustice ever
materialized in my own body in front of him.
I held my broken phone in my lap
and the bag of my belongings,
including my wig..
I had taken it off to show them I had no weapons.
(Tuck it in your cheek.)
“I didn’t want to take the blood test. The German guy said if I refuse the blood test,
I don’t go to the hospital,” I had a very fuzzy idea of the episode.
“I refused to blow in the breathalyzer.
Told them my breath wasn’t strong enough.”
They didn’t take me to the hospital.
I vomited in a metal toilet.
They put me in a special cell alone because I was a suicide risk.
I had muttered something I shouldn’t have as they
let me have a puff of a cigarette
before entering the jail.
(Suicide risk, I wrote on my hand later that night).
They charged me with a hit and run, second dui and
refusing the breathalyzer which is its own crime.
I thought attempted suicide was a crime
but they let me pass out on the toilet’s edge with
broken bones and a head injury smelling my own vomit all night
so I guess justice was served.
And I lived through that.
“How to forget everything day 3”
truthfully,
I had a dollar to my name and
that was it.
I had even lost my bob:
begged my friend to
shave it in a blackout
I want this thing gone
so I had to scour the store for about
three cheap wigs that could
possibly be real hair,
a couple pairs of jeans,
some thrift store shirts that said nothing about style or quality or even
weathering seasons but the joy was the
low thread count
, the way she said “only fifty cents” and
you had that in your back pocket. a big puffy
brown jacket that someone had donated
to me when I was probably shivering
in my seven year hoodie and
I know how to take a handout if you phrase it right.
I was what you called the
“life of the party” and no matter how
many bedspreads I ruined, I was always invited back and
honestly, lucky timing that year
hipsters were cool so I showed them my
pall malls and dirty nails and asked if they knew
what it felt like to empty your guts about anything real
or if their record collection was more about posturing,
fell head first down the metal fire escape as I asked him
but got right up like I hadn’t concussed several times that night
and told him I listen to more music than he’s ever heard of,
said to him
I’m schizophrenic or at least
hallucinating mildly
generally at baseline
and then I threw up a little on the carpet
before I skulked out onto Hampton,
(turn the headphones up),
going nowhere,
sort of cackling.
brown combat
boots—those were second hand too even
though everyone agrees shoes are something
a person needs brand new and
a compulsion
to spend my days sipping
those 7-11 brand 1.5 liters of
red wine.
the kind that are hard to carry with one hand
or finish by yourself but here I am
the next day, unslept, squinty eyed and crawling in the grass
in the public square dragging it behind me.
lips cracked and red,
phone probably dead
no water..
I don’t remember crying but they said
I did it all the time.
a place on my friends couch.
place on my mom’s couch.
no bedroom.
a breathalyzer on my car steering wheel
that only started with one clean breath which
was becoming more rare so sometimes I asked for help
(Blow here, I’d point)
no real place to live.
about a dollar in my pocket
and a negative bank statement with
matching credit card debt but no
shortage of men and you know
(Call your wolves)
I fucking lived through that.
so I know grace personally,
like I wear it and absorb it and
I do pray with fervor.
I never forget where I’ve been.
and you think clutching a rosary makes me
a saint or insane but either way
you have never seen what asbestos can do to a structure,
the way mold just kind of grows on walls like that so you
don’t really think about it and
I build altar.
I answered all of your questions like that
after awhile: long form
in poetry and short stories
and anecdotes and all over the place so your drawing a map
to connect my life and her life and you’re seeing
there’s no difference in your bedroom but waiting
to see how I write you at night
when no one is around wishing you had courage
to bang on doors too.
wishing you had the courage to one day
drive your car headfirst
into a parked cement mixer too.
wishing your innocuous superstitions grew pulses, became
a poltergeist you leash to your bed.
wishing you had the courage to spit on a man’s face
for touching your leg
or learning how to tuck a razor inside of your cheek.
(Pull it out and graze his face)
wishing you had the courage to tell
true stories too.
And I lived through that.
“How do forget everything day 1”
“Well, I didn’t finish.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack asked.
“I was just giving some background information,” she waved her hands over the floor letting the sleeves of her gown hang. “You know, just an explanation.
Marisol and the woman continued to eye each other.
“Besides, I was telling you how I got here.
Marisol reached across to pass Salome the bowl.
“Well,” she said giving her another onceover.
Snakes.
She covered her mouth with her hand and coughed. She looked directly at Marisol.
“Could I have that tea you promised?”
The day I arrived it was hot. It wasn’t snowing like I had thought it would be, or should I say, like I thought I had been promised or been promised, but scorching. I wore socks, always. It was gross not to, and combat boots with a sundress. My face was bare and so was my head. I had just shaved my head again and my forehead was full of beads of sweat. Walking for miles, my knees hurt and my legs hurt and my back hurt and I was tired. I carried nothing in my hand. I hadn’t drank anything for hours and was constantly opening and closing my mouth to feel how dry my tongue was; to feel my jaw open and shut. When I arrived at the hospital, I was on the verge of collapse anyway so the entire process went faster.
My knees buckled from exhaustion and anxiety when I walked in and I could barely stand so the attendings swarmed me to help. They brought me water and that’s when I spoke, for the first time to anyone all day.
“I can’t. I’ll choke.”
I fainted. I was so proud of my body for fainting. See, I can’t lie. I feel the constant need to confess so I had walked or miles until I fainted. They tried to ask my name. I whispered and they repeated back: Sadia? I could only nod. When someone has no ID, they use Doe or Smith. I was Sadia Smith. I was admitted to Pennsylvania Presbyterian Hospital for severe dehydration and exhaustion and later admitted to Presbyterian’s acute psychiatric unit for a dissociative fugue. The name on my file said Sadia Smith.
“Possible delusional disorder. Possibly a psychotic episode. She seems quite manic despite not sleeping all night and walking all day.”
I heard them say that the following morning as I waited for my special consult. I was excited for the consult, this new shiny name. They had tucked me in a room with an older white woman who screamed randomly in the night. She didn’t scream all night, just whenever the urge came over her. I felt I deserved that. I don’t know what it was about masochism that I was so drawn to but I liked that I couldn’t sleep. It also created a very warm and fuzzy glow in my eyes and as I walked the unit the following day avoiding drinking water, avoiding breakfast, avoiding comrade with my freshly shaved head and blue gown and the word “courage” written in permanent marker on my skull (I wanted to see if it would make a good tattoo), I felt giant. I felt like laughing in their faces.
“As I dig for wild orchids
in the autumn fields,
it is the deeply-bedded root
that I desire,
not the flower.”
–Izumi Shikibu
Sometimes I shoplift. Nothing major, just lipgloss or small items or a snack, kombucha, maybe some candy. I’m ethical and reasonable. i don’t shoplift from mom and pop stores, people i know (although I used to steal from frat parties; frozen pizzas, alcohol, a stapler I needed once, coasters). Only those deserving like major corporations or assholes or frat parties, sure.If I can tuck it in my purse, eat it on the way out, accidentally take the sample or forget to check it at the self-check line, I do that. It’s not that I like ripping people off.
“I like saving money,” I said to my partner pulling the bike lights out of my bookbag. “Look. I took these from Target. For us.”
I had bought us both bikes to get around. We had just moved to Colorado and we needed transportation. I bought the bikes but I couldn’t afford the helmets and lights. I bought the helmets.
“Will you teach me?” he said.
I showed him how to take kombucha from Whole Foods one night. I nudged him and as we put things through the self check line, I forgot to pass him the kombucha and a pack of gum from the pile and placed it in my bag without swiping as he swiped the rest across the barcode scanner. I always brought my own bags so I simply placed everything next to the bagging area and then when I was done, after the receipt spit out, I packed everything in. This way, you don’t worry about weight and you shove a couple extra things in your bag either while you are shopping or when you are in line.
On stealing days, I hold the door for everyone and smile. I linger even, very casually. Sometimes I walk into places to fill my coffee up in my travel mug and walk out, smiling and complimenting people on the way out. I once got really stoned and accidentally tried to buy the sample eyeshadow. I almost got it for free except one of the managers ran over and stopped me. I think samples are gross but I learned a new trick.
I always act nonchalant about everything. Apathy is not a performance. I am always ready to say I simply forgot. I rehearse. One time I swallowed a tube of castor oil to make myself throw up so I could call in sick to a new job at a retail store. I couldn’t lie. I had to make myself sick first and then believe it. It’s the same with shoplifting. I tuck it in my bag and then actively forget about it so as I walk out the door, it’s as if I never took anything or told a lie or committed any sin.
The room was looking at her waiting for more but she stayed stoic.
“Wait do we make guesses?”
Marisol took a sip of her beer.
“We did last year.”
“You said you can’t tell a lie? Fuck I can’t remember.”
“No and you can’t ask her anything.”
She blinked.
“I think she’s telling the truth.”
“LIE,” Marisol yelled and began to pick up the bowl from the side of the mattress. “She’s got a better truth, I can tell.”
David coughed, “Truth.”
Everyone turned to face the meek Salome in the corner.
“Truth,” she muttered.
“Well then,” the narrator smiled at Marisol. “Shall we continue to the next story?”
Marisol gritted her teeth and so did the woman. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead.
“The woman who told the stories, confession #1”
daturamoon.com 