Loss births guilt; a twisted version of the tale of Jonah and the whale. |
When the principal himself at the residential school for autism where you bathe live learn eat play please God are loved calls my cell, I happen to be away from it. He speaks in an even tone. I am upstairs pouring coffee comfort ritual routine into a blue mug. A pretty co-worker comes into the kitchen, skirts me silently, retrieves something from the fridge, and walks away. Invisibility. My mother has just dropped me off in beginning-of-the-rain grey after together we'd ushered my suffering sweet Sugarpuss into Sleep. I return to my cubicle, place the coffee down I am holding my breath and on the cell phone a red light blinking blinking his area code I dial into the voice mail it takes me two times, I hear Jonah is okay, I hear significant incident hear how they tried to redirect him, keep him walking. He was violently aggressive he needed a two-person takedown; he likely hurt someone. More than one someone. Surfacing to bite. Born of me who hated hitting, shrank from violence, submitted every time. Weak and yet I grew a wild white whale inside my womb, Ahab be warned. |