“Those Gel Tears” by Chelsey Cashwell)

Those gel tears. The slow to start, slow to brim, slow to tumble down tears. The “come on I just want to get it over with” “go on, now GET” tears. Those overriding my body’s natural functions, just won’t kick into gear tears. Those big wet sad tears, eventually puddled up next to my dirty toes tears. Crying on my balcony tears with my broken other half on the other side of the wall tears. Marriage tears.

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I was smoking a cigarette and watching my neighbor take his puppy Pit to shit on my lawn for what must be the twelfth time since he brought the adorable thing home. I heard a quick inhale and exhale above me when I was in the middle of a thought about how I really can’t be all that riled up over a few puppy poops on my lawn when I’m not even positive as to what shit I even have back there. For a moment, I was pleased with myself for being so reasonable and dignified for not making a fuss about the poop, but my self-aggrandizing forked off into curiosity when I heard what was definitely a woman’s huffing.

Her balcony faces a busy street. My house from her balcony, and her balcony from my house, are uncomfortably visible to each other, and I’m sure she, like me, has to remind herself of that often.

You could tell her body was stiff from withstanding the shakes that come right before a really good cry. She was leaning back and forth just barely, and when that wasn’t enough she leaned forward like she was stretching and squeezed her knees to her chest and then flung herself back into the chair and popped her neck. That kind of startled me even from a distance, but not because I actually heard her neck pop, but because I realized at that moment that she already knew I was there with her, smoking my cigarette, and she was trying to be strong, for my sake. My mind fell wayward and flipped through a million instances when I witnessed a man telling a girl that she should smile and swore off the idea as if that kind of commentary is contagious, a sort of socially transmitted infection. A part of me really did want to try and cheer her up, but the other part wanted to tell her to just cry because I knew that’s what she wanted to do.