On the Raids
Once a week, Rebecca drinks a different type of alcohol and writes a rough draft. She edits sober. This week Rebecca said she would drink whiskey. What she really meant was she would drink whiskey unless she wanted a Margarita…
A woman in a suicide vest detonated herself and part of her spine landed on top of a police car.
I wonder if she took showers or did she have time for baths.
I wonder what she thought about when she washed herself that day.
I wonder if she thought about not showing up, if she thought about getting lost in Paris.
I wonder if her mother ever picked her up early from school on her birthday. Maybe they went to the library.
I wonder what books she chose.
I wonder if she had a good sense of direction, or did she use the blue line on her phone.
I wonder if her favorite song made her sit in a car outside, just outside the house… she might have listened to it alone, again and again and again.
I wonder if she was a good speller.
I wonder if the word “moist” bothered her, or she’d ever heard that word at all.
I wonder if she knew she’d kill herself the day Sylvia Beach did last minute preparations for the Shakespeare & Co opening 96 years ago.
I wonder if she had heavy periods or light ones.
I wonder if she had a laugh so sweet every man tried to coax it out of her.
I wonder if she ever looked in the mirror naked, pinched her skin, if she whispered I’m so ugly to herself.
I wonder if she was the best at coloring inside the lines.
I wonder if she put face makeup on her chest, arms, legs, trying to make it all look smoother for no one in particular.
I wonder if wool bothered her skin.
I wonder if someone lit candles during her first power outage or did she just sit in the dark and wait?
I wonder if she crossed her legs or her ankles.
I wonder if she liked to drink straight liquor. If she liked red wine for the way it made her head bob in slow motion when she laughed.
I wonder if her father stood in a doorway and watched his child sleep, counting every rise and fall of her chest.
I wonder if she liked to run, to dance, to do cartwheels.
I wonder if she died hungry.
I wonder if she wondered about Musée du Louvre, Jim Morrison’s grave, Ernest Hemingway’s favorite café, but she never gave herself the chance to see stupid romantic things.
I wonder what she thought about the smell of chlorine.
I wonder how many people she did laundry for or did she always do a single load for herself.
I wonder if she was a very cold person, if she wore socks to bed every night.
I wonder, did she get cat called? Did she like it?
I wonder if her bathroom sink was spotless or caked in soap scum and dried toothpaste.
I wonder if she ever thought her last words would be “He’s not my boyfriend!”
I wonder if he was her boyfriend.
I wonder if I should be scared of her boyfriend, boyfriends, a Schweppes GOLD can bomb on my sidewalk, I wonder.