Water In the Basement
Water in the Basement
There was water in the basement today
My mom handed me a garbage bag
To throw away things
That we couldn’t wash
The saddest thing
Was a cardboard sculpture of myself
Because I knew
It was sodden and sad
Paper hair plastered on the side
Like a sad version of a bad hair day
I remembered when it was new
When my art professor told us about Chris Gilmour
The sculptor who used cardboard instead of stone
Intricate cars and motorcyles
Precisely detailed in warm brown
And gave us the assignment to create a sculpture of ourselves
But my sculpture
Wasn’t like Gilmour’s at all
It was all messy cardboard
Hot glued together
It didn’t look like me
But it felt like me
When I looked into the eyes
I remembered the way I felt
My mind was all stars and night and imagination
Some part of me
Is afraid to let it go
It’s a familiar sad feeling
Like what I felt when I let go of the girl I loved
Only
This time
The person I’m letting go of
Is the person
Who made the sculpture
Years ago
When I look at this sculpture that I made in wood and mixed media class, I remember what I felt in college. So young and full of promise. That I could be anything, do anything. That I didn’t have to think about the rest of my life. Part of me always wants to go back. And it is hard to admit that that part of my life is over.
I think about this when I wait for nighttime. It is nighttime when I will see how things are going to unfold. I hope she will show me her vulnerable side, her emotional side again. The parts of her that I knew I needed in my life when I first met her. But I know, I cannot force her to be that person for me. That there is a possibility, that she won’t. That she will be closed and I’m so sad that I may have to say goodbye to the person I was when I was in love with her.