Deconstruction of a Breakdown

I let the neighbors watch.

There is cat puke on my yoga mat. I step over it. I’ll clean it up later. Maybe.

I don’t roll up the mat anymore. It’s been lying on the filthy floor for weeks. We step on it to open the closet door. In dirty shoes. Smelly feet smudging my zen.

Prayer hands.

I do my hot yoga in a cold room, on a dirty mat, praying for an hour of peace, of transcendence.

To transcend out of this room, out of this house, out of this mind. . .and just drift away. Anywhere.

I stand naked in the bathroom. I spray fake tanner slowly down my thighs, across my torso, swift circles on my breasts. I spray some in my palms to dab gently on my face.

Tan skin becomes a priority when nobody will see you.

Tree pose.

I stroll across the bedroom, my newly painted, moist skin drying with each step. The ceiling fan clicks with each rotation. My nipples notice the draft.

The blinds are open. Can the neighbors see me? Let them. Maybe they’ll wonder where I got my nice tan.

I remain naked, lost in my thoughts, staring at a white plastic bag dancing in a bush. The idea of being watched consumes me, arouses me.

I make the bed, cautiously. Deliberate with each movement, hardening my abs and bending over just so, in case there are eyes on me.

I smell the sex from last night as I smooth the tangled sheets. It makes me want to touch myself. I consider it, for a moment. I twirl the ends of my hair.

Split ends. I grab a pair of scissors.

My hair just barely touches the top of my nipples. It sweeps down and curves loosely, creating a fringe curtain over where my rib-lined chest meets womanly mounds.

For a moment I consider cutting it off to the shoulders. . .

But, I don’t like my face enough. Maybe that’s why I tanned it? Changed its color to hide the truth; I liked my face more when I was younger.

Youth.

I pinch the tips and start snipping. The sound of the metal legs scraping together pleases me. Just a little snip here. A little snip there.

Scrape snip scrape snip scrape snip. That’s better.

My phone rings. HUSBAND CELL. I just can’t, not now, no way. There is nothing to say. I stare at it vibrating. Until it quiets.

Silence.

I leap over the cat puke to get to the closet. The jovial action feels playful, childlike. I bend my neck back and twirl, smiling at this sudden ping of joy.

I choose clothes for the day. Same selection as yesterday. Because today is yesterday and tomorrow will be today, just like it was yesterday and today. Tomorrow. . .

Why did I ignore his call?

Guilt.

I exit the closet, clothes in hand, avoiding the puke. I lay naked on the impeccably made bed. I spread my legs and my hand finds its intended place. I snap a picture. Send to HUSBAND CELL.

Redemption.

He replies immediately with a drool-face emoji. He’ll forget that I ignored his call. Men are so simple.

Organization. I hear bottles and things tumbling over as I pull open the bathroom drawer. What is all this stuff?

Binge and purge. That always makes me feel better.

Unscrewing caps, untwisting pumps, pouring liquids and lotions down the drain. Potions that had promised to make me smoother, make me tighter, tame my wild and shine my soul.

Erase my damage.

Make me perfect.

Text from HUSBAND CELL. Send more pics. Heart-eyed emoji.

I glare up at my naked reflection. Snap pic. Obedient wife.

He can’t see this image. Breasts are heavy. Hair uneven, unstable. Streaked fake tan on a face void of a smile. Bland, aged and dull. Invisible.

DELETE.

I turn around. He likes an ass shot. I position the phone over my shoulder. CLICK. My twisted spine surrounded by micro muscles directing the eyes down toward glory. I look strong, yet so delicate I could snap.

SEND.

Text from HUSBAND CELL. You are beautiful. Show me your face.

Lump in throat, eyes well up. I scurry across the room to quickly close the blinds. I don’t want the neighbors to see me cry.

I slip on my clothes.

I squat down.

And clean up the cat puke.

Emme Beckett is has been featured in The Bad Influence, The Haven, Fearless She Wrote, The Ascent, Live Your Life on Purpose, The Post-Grad Survival Guide, Home Sweet Home and ILLUMINATION.

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