“April, I feel you leaving.” (Reprise, Cadaveric Spasm, & Cutting the Cord)

“I guess you want your keys back,” he finished.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I said. Whatever force was barely holding me together gave way, and I fell apart. “This is stupid, I’m going to go.” I stood up, as did he.

“No, uh, I…” His words sounded disbelieving, but not as if he didn’t want to let me go. It was more as if he didn’t want to let me go like that.

“I can’t do this,” I told him.

We hugged tightly.  That moment was the only thing that felt real that day.  The embrace was so strong that had I died right then, it may have resulted in a cadaveric spasm.

(During a death happening under extremely physical circumstances with intense emotion, a cadaveric spasm may occur. It is a rare form of muscular stiffening which is sometimes seen in cases of drowning victims when grass, weeds, or roots are clutched just prior to expiration. A cadaveric spasm often crystallizes the last activity one did prior to death and is therefore significant in forensic investigations, e.g. holding onto a knife tightly.)

“If you ever need anything, you can call me,” I managed to say through relentless tears.

“If you ever need anything, will you call me?” he asked.

I knew I couldn’t. I needed to cut the cord. “Probably not,” I replied honestly.

The walk home was horrible. Quinn said she would come over, and my roommate Jayme abandoned the gym to buy me cupcakes and head back to the apartment. When they arrived separately, I was sitting on the sofa in my sunglasses drinking Chambord, vodka, and soda.

So it goes in life that those wounds have healed and turned to scars while others have opened.

I’ve begun to realize that one can never really cut the cord. It’s less an act of severing and more a matter of participation.  Although cliché, there is sometimes a slow, subtle game in progress that can start even before the first kiss.   One opponent gracefully places the ball into the other player’s court, allowing him/her the option of passing it back or kicking it out of bounds and walking away. Even when choosing the latter, most can’t help but look back, and his/her adversary may wonder if the exit from the court is to find the ball and put it back into play, or if the game is over.

Additionally, some may teeter between acknowledging the want for a constant match and accepting that the self is better off alone. However, the second might not be so much a realization as opposed to a means of self-preservation; a self-convinced thought.

Lately when contemplating these matters, my mind only sees shades of gray.

Like the other night when Stacy and I were discussing a more recent romantic plight. “Do you want him to be your boyfriend?” she asked me.

“I mean, it’s just not that black and white anymore,” I told her. “I want to be with someone who wants to be with me.”

I wonder if I’ll ever truly understand these things.  Mostly, I just don’t know what to do.  Ever.

(I don’t know what silence means. It could mean anything. – P.J. Harvey, “April” Listen.)

One Response to ““April, I feel you leaving.” (Reprise, Cadaveric Spasm, & Cutting the Cord)”

  1. Digging, Struggling, Sinking (Relax & Float) | Keep My Words Says:

    [...] died of drowning and possibly [...]

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