What happens to that when you’re not dancing? Where does your sun and sky and ball and fire and all of it go? I feel like I see it in you, even when you’re walking down the street. You’re not just a body. That’s only the most obvious part of you. How boring. We all have one of those. It’s what’s inside. Even if the body is gone, the rest of you would have to stay. It’s so much bigger. I don’t know how else to put it. It’s the you when you aren’t in the room. It leaves a beautiful mark over every place you’ve ever been. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking about. Maybe you’re asking yourself Is this the way people will remember me? When they hear this song, will I be woven into every beat?

Sometimes when you dance, I swear you’re actually fixing the sun and the sky and all the things that seem broken when people think they’ve been left behind. It makes me believe that we’re always together, even when we’re apart. We’re all inside of each other, sometimes sneaking out in ways they can’t be easily qualified. I am in your steps. You are in mine.

I really like believing that.

I wish I knew why I do the things I do. I wish I had a purpose for my body like you have a purpose for yours. I wish for so much. Like more words to say better things than this. More ways to tell you how important you are. How you stay with me, wherever I go.

Can you make it so I stay with you too?

Love always,

Marley

July 11

Five Years Prior

Squad cars, fire trucks, and ambulances arrived all at once. Fear gnawed at my stomach. Would I be in trouble? Was it my fault? What would they do to me? To Marley? I closed myself inside the shed as Nick had, letting the near total darkness devour me whole. Heavy air panted down my neck. Time became taffy, lapping and twisting over itself, stretching out in new ways, never once breaking.

The world outside whispered more questions into my ear.

“How did this happen?” and “She’s just a kid,” and “You know whose daughter that is, right?” and “She’s fifteen,” and “Fifteen? Christ,” and “Where is Officer Bricket?” and “Why’d he have to take leave this week?” and “Did she do this to herself?” and “Has he been told?” and “Wife troubles, I think,” and “No signs of life,” and “It was with his gun,” and “It makes me sick to my stomach,” and “No adults around,” and “They’re all just kids.”

A small sliver of light shone on my dirty toes. The concrete was cold. So cold. A perfect pillow for my heavy head.