Before You Know It
John Carr
8 months from now she’ll call me crying.
6 months from now on an ice cloaked Saturday I’ll hang up on her.
She’ll call back in 12 minutes, but I won’t answer. By then I’ll be sitting
in my dingy 1984 Chevy Celebrity at the top of Irish Hill,
staring past the Philadelphia skyline,
entertaining suicide.
4 months from now she’ll start seeing someone else.
3 months from now we’ll go to the Ritz on a Wednesday to see
Almost Famous. The movie makes her cry. Afterward we’ll sit in my car for hours,
I’ll try to make her come back, sometimes deceptively, often begging,
while she’ll tell me that I’m the only guy who ever made her feel worthy of love,
but she’s not ready to go back yet.
7 weeks from now she’ll say she needs some time apart.
5 weeks from now we’ll stand in the Deptford Mall parking lot
arguing about whether I need to find a new job. I’ll tell her I’m happy
where I am (for now), and she’ll respond that’s my problem,
I’ve got no ambition. I’ll tell her she’s just being spiteful
because she can’t find a job she keeps for more than a month.
I won’t tell her I’m afraid she’s right about my ambition.
4 weeks from now we’ll play “Laser Tag” on a friend’s farm near Elmer.
3 weeks from now we’ll make love again, quick and anxious
at first, but then she’ll slow me down. When we’re done
she’ll get up and go into the bathroom.
I’ll hear her crying through the door, but she won’t answer
when I ask what’s wrong. I’ll go back in my room
and sit down on the bed,
alone.
2 weeks from now we’ll find out she’s just over a month pregnant, and get the abortion.
Right now we’re lying naked in the grass on an insignificant island
in the middle of the Susquehanna River. She’s watching a common musk turtle
crawl around on a rock while my hand languidly runs up and down her
pale thigh. She’s asking me if I’ll love her forever, and I’m telling her that of course
I will. She’s asking, “Will you still love me even when I’m bloated
and my boobs are sagging down to my knees
and I’m wheezing from too many years smoking
and I’m wearing a stained ‘I’m With Stupid’ t-shirt
and I’m surrounded by screaming kids with pudding smeared on their faces?”
I’m grinning and saying,
“Yes, even then.”
