From the quitness

[Celestial Dung]

"I don't understand anything."

That was Charlotte's trademark moment of depression quote. Whenever she had a sucky day at the nine to five or her mother bitched her out about the lack of structure in her life. Whenever birds would fight over the last breadcrumbs she tossed out her or whenever a couple that had been together for five years straight broke away. Whenever she woke up late at night and cried for no reason or whenever she didn't have money to get the homeless people in the Old City. Whenever words couldn't suffice for the sorrow she couldn't get over, she always told me that she couldn't understand anything.

That's the irony of it. Between us Charlotte was always the smart one. The one who understood philosophical concepts and could hold her own with masters of physics. When we went to social gathering, the type of gatherings where everyone dresses up to be seen looking at things they don't understand, she would be the one talking with everyone. I was eye candy I suppose.

"This is my love Sussanna," she routinely pointed me out "best damn interpreter of modern disease out their. She like did this one spoken word piece that made half the room cry. It was about cancer dying, can you imagine that. Cancer dying now isn't that a trip in the machine."

Half the time I didn't know what she was talking about. I had written a poem from the aspect of a cancer fading out from chemotherapy. I wondered what it was like. I wondered if cancer had a conscience to it, if it knew that it was destroying someone. I wondered if it was sorry. People did cry on that one though. Charlotte thought I was showcasing the ease of manipulation through sentiment, the idea that anything can be pitied if you gave it a voice. I just wanted to know what kind of thoughts a cancer had.

I loved Charlotte. She knew how to speak to me so that I knew what she was thinking. She knew how to make people feed good about themselves. It was when we were alone, the the two o'clock hours of the night that she coudln't understand things. Then it was everywhere. Club people noticed she was darkening, fading out of life, turning into a passing breeze. They told me I should watch her, that she wasn't right, that something was going on. I preferred to behave like nothing was going on because I believed that if you act it out it become reality.

That's the reason everyone thought it was suicide. Her car hit the median on I40 going west. She had an appointment to speak at a new art store at Cedar Bluff. She hated West Knoxville. Everyone knew for certain that she crashed into the medium on purpose, taking four people with her into the darkness. I knew it wasn't so, she was a pacifist after all.

After her funeral I tried Jesus, Allah, and Jack Daniels but none of the gods could appease me. Without Charlotte the world was a empty notebook with the words whited out. I didn't want to eat anymore and I was actually enjoying watching myself drift into the darkness. One night I was in bed but not sleeping when I heard I knock. When I opened the door their was a piece of paper with Charlotte's handwriting on it. Hearts decorated it's canvas and her loops and swirls served as ornaments.

"I understand."

I drove to the old city the next day and spent two hours eating at Da Vinci's. In between swallows I wrote a piece about eternity and the people that filled up it's space. I wrote about the explosion that started the whole thing and the explosions that continue. I wrote about Charlotte and that I love her. I walked the streets of downtown smiling at everyone that passed by.

I love Charlotte.

And that's good enough for me.