October
Location
My great great uncle fried potatoes every night
for his pet dogs to eat.
He was never married.
On rainy days, there is a chill
that prickles the hair on my arms
and seeps into my bones.
It settles there
for the rest of the day.
Every October Friday night,
my friends drag me to the high school football game,
and I try to pay attention
but I always find myself
staring at the stars in the darkness
by the middle of the third quarter.
My great great uncle died of a heart attack
and they found his body on his kitchen floor
with potatoes still frying on the stove,
burnt black by then.
I can imagine the dogs whining
and their sad eyes
and their cold noses
pressing up against his stiffened fingers
that day in October.
When it rains, I cannot play the piano
even when I run scalding water over my hands
because water cannot reach my frozen bones
buried beneath thin layers of muscle and ligament and skin.
One October when I was sixteen,
I chopped off eight inches of my hair,
but I still stood alone
at the football game.
My great great uncle swore like a sailor.
My twin brother does the same.
Sometimes I freeze solid on sunny October days
and I can count my heartbeat in my chest
and it's always too fast
and I wonder if I'm going to have a heart attack.
Ethan asked me about the stars once
on a Friday in October
and he did not listen to me tell him
the story of Orion.
I talked stars to his silence
for the rest of the game.
I learned about my great great uncle
while eating fried potatoes
because that's what made my mother remember.
I count my heartbeats even when I'm not frozen
and I wash my hands with scalding water
even when it doesn't rain.
I thought Ethan would listen to me talk stars
but the only star he wanted to hear about
was himself.
I do not want to learn how to fry potatoes,
my dog's cold wet nose makes me sad sometimes,
and I wish my brother would stop swearing.
I fall apart many times each day
when nobody seems to be looking
and I always scare myself
by accidentally imagining the stopping of my heart.
When I stand looking upward in the dark,
the back of my neck bare,
I can hear my heart
and I wish I had a pair of gloves.
Every day I wonder
if my brother's heart tries too hard
like mine does,
and I wonder
if my great great uncle
was lonely.
One of these days,
my heart will stop
and my fingers will stiffen
and the chill will seep into my bones.
This will happen
no matter how many heartbeats I count.
Even if I were not lonely
I would still be afraid of my heart,
but at least someone would listen to me talk stars.
History is doomed to repeat itself
because every person alive
has a beating heart
and every person alive
will soon be dead.
I hope someone's fingers
are still warm enough
to play music when I die.
Every October Friday night,
I tell myself that
I am not afraid of stars.