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Day 18
I ran out of envelopes for the shards so I went to the store and bought white business envelopes. When I was a small girl I thought that the word "business" was the word "busyness."
I spent so much time being busy with the word "business." I also spelled eavesdropping as eavesdripping when I first learned to type. I like eavesdripping better even though I do not know what eaves are. These are the thoughts that I have when I am not thinking of my mother or how she is dying. Dying is such an important thing and I wonder how I can think of anything at all besides dying. Then I think that dying must be just like business. Busyness. Something I have confused with something else. If dying were really what I think it to be then I would not be able to be with any other thoughts, I would not be able to be anything other than afraid of what is happening to my mother or to myself or the world. But I do not only think of death. Sometimes I laugh. This is how I know that business is death.
Day 8
When I was six, I held my mother's hand in the grocery store and she told me not to touch the oranges. I tell her that I want to smell their skin. She says no, we must buy them. They are not our oranges. When she is not looking, I put one in her bag. At the register, she doesn't notice the orange. She is too tired. We buy the orange. On the way home, I want to smell the orange and then eat it. I unbuckle myself. I climb over my seat to the grocery bags and reach inside, fingering for my orange. The light turns green and my mother drives. A truck doesn't see his red light. My mother curses, breaks. I am sent forward, against the seat, my head hits the window and I cry. My mother panics and pulls over. On the shoulder, she buckles me back in. She is afraid of what could have been. She calms me and cries only tears, not sobs. The tears look graceful on her face. She asks, "Why did you get unbuckled?" My mother is not angry with me.
I took the orange. I unbuckled myself. I caused her pain. She peels for me the orange I had wanted. I am guilty for it.
Day 4
I send a glass shard to my mother.
Day 1
You wrote this instruction:
SHOOT 100 PANES OF GLASS
When a person hurts you badly,
line up 100 panes of glass in
the field and shoot a bullet
through it.
Take a copy of a map made by
the cracks on each glass and
send a map a day for 100 days
to the person who has hurt you.
Day 13
I have had another dream. In my dream everyone is dying. They die happily and complacently. They know that they need to die. None of them are my mother. All of them are people that I don't know. Except me. I am there. I die too. But I die afraid.