NUMB

eighty nine

"Whore!" I was walking out of a parking lot when I heard it.

Just as the word sinked into my brain, eggs were hurled towards me. Like all those times they did to my front porch, do you remember?

I gasped; cowered from the impact of the smashing shells.

Just like the thick line of sweat, raw eggs and tears began to blanket my skin, the numbness on my entirety began to grow.

You planted that numbness.

You cultivated it.

You watched it grow. Attempted to cut it down because you decided you hated it...but then you let strangers solidify it for you.

So that you won't feel responsible.

I get it now.

I got it when I brought a hand to wipe off the yolk residue dripping down my face, staring at the growing group of people that gathered and started taking pictures of me.

I started to feel light headed.

I got it when amidst the crowd, I spotted you clad in red flannel, both hands on your jeans as you blankly stared at the commotion.

"He's here!" Someone announced, do you remember? "Dude, give him an egg!"

I got it when as quick as the flashes of the cameras, an egg was perched on your palm, staring at me on the ground.

"Egg her! Egg her! Egg her!" Do you remember how the the crowd cheered you on earlier?

That's where I took every last bit of hope that I have for you.

That I'm completely wrong, that you're actually a good person.

You know they're wrong.

You know.

But I got it when I stared at your eyes, blinking up at your stony features, before I swallowed the bile as their voices turned louder. I was shaking, and you knew it.

"Come on, man! What are you waiting for?" The guy called, snapping you out of your trance. What were you thinking of?

Did you think of all those times you took the pain away? Did you think of all those times you tried to keep me safe?

I prayed for you to wake up from the wild mass of people, from what people thought.

You looked at me, a silent plead, a silent apology — and I got it.

I got it—when I stared up at you in disbelief, tears clouding my eyes as I caught the smirk on your face.

I got it—when the crowd went wild as the fresh rawness cascaded down my shirt.

I was right.

...and now I get it.