Written by -M. Taggart
A Tilted Heart
Out of the drawer fell a folded piece of paper. He paused knowing what it was. Slowly he bent down, opened it, and read words he’d written to himself.
“Today was a nothing day. And that’s how some of them are. 7/13/15.” He felt as though he swallowed a tilted heart; pushing upward in his throat, not content, possibly never his to have.
He put the folded paper into his pocket and closed the drawer. He placed the heavy cast iron skillet into the sink. It had held what he had told himself to think was a perfectly made egg for his morning egg and cheese sandwich. He stood with his hands on the kitchen counter staring at the dirty iron skillet. Frozen in a moment between truth and agony for having finally accepted it.
It’d been over two years since he sat on the river bank reading and drinking beer. The beer had warmed from the summer sun. He happily drank the warm beer and read and wrote a reminder to come back. But he hadn’t. Instead he pushed the words into a drawer and now he had eaten an egg sandwich that was not perfect. He knew it as he ate it, but pushed that truth down toward his tilted heart to falsely warm for a brief time.
Funny though, he thought, funny how when he wrote it it was meant as a compliment to the day itself. Yet now, it flew in motion a range of self punishments he needed to correct. He left the kitchen, dirty cast iron skillet and all, found two books he treasured, and walked out the door. It was a three and a half hour drive. There would be a place to find beer along the way. There wouldn’t be another time to do what needed to be done now.