Two years ago I sat in my kitchen with my boyfriend on my left, my parents on the right, my sister, in the middle.
And they told me, all at once. They told me with faces and words and outstretched arms.
I think I cried. I can't remember, but I'm sure that's what a normal person would have done. I know that I made phone calls and told friends.
But still...I can't remember everything.
It happened in different ways, all at the same time. All the shapes it took, the ways it unfolded and happened--I couldn't take it in then.
Even when I was right in the middle of it, I was remembering something else. I was looking for something else. I was saying to myself that treatment would be done by April and I would graduate in May. I would finish school on time. That was what I thought I should thinking about: the next step, the next breath. The next ten minutes in class--would I shoot my hand in the air and answer the question? These were the things I thought about. Dinners I would eat. Trips I would take.
I can’t remember now like I want to. I can’t think back because I can’t believe it has been two years. Perhaps I need more distance, more time to unravel my memories, pick apart what is truth and what is projection.
I need more time to think.
I need to remember the time I had cancer and was graduating college and had really bad acne.
I need to remember to move on.