Go Where It's Warm

 Does the sun ever shine in Newton, Massachusetts? All I see is houses elevating the median income tax bracket. All I hear is suburban white noise: Lawn mowers, garden hoses, construction. We need a fucking pool house and a new kitchen. If it ain’t broke, break it so you can buy a new one. I know this town, I’ve been here before, but I only moved here a week ago. How do the goddesses of the universe find those who buy Dolce and Gabbana and Balenciaga? One last thing- the tile doesn’t match our Hermés china. A baby cries out- can I buy my way to heaven? Take an Uber, don't walk. Tip 30% and you’ll get the best seat in the house. 

It is summertime in the richest town this small state has to offer. They say money talks of where they’ve been and where they’re going and what they’re wearing. Wealth whispers we do not discuss this at the dinner table. More wine? It’s a crying shame that mascara isn’t waterproof. Go clean yourself up before our guests come for chrissakes. It isn’t appropriate for other people to see what’s being said in the kitchen. Put your napkin in your lap, dinner is ready. We’re serving repressed emotions topped with crippling alcoholism and bipolar disorder. 

It’s a paradox, isn’t it? It is in this town, one that belongs to the world I grew up in, that I must learn to hear more than white noise, to see more than what I’ve been taught to see, to not avert my eyes when tears are spilled on wrinkled shirts and ripped jeans. I wake up in the morning, feeling existential dread. I take my morning meds, reminded I don’t have to live that way anymore. I sit out in the sun and realize it’s been here all along. Denver has sunny days year round, Utah does, too. I never found it. It rains too much in Oregon and in New York City I can’t see the sun because I’m at the club in the middle of the day. That’s where I’ve been. That’s what I’ve left behind. The sun only shines in Newton, Massachusetts. It looks like the yoga class I do every morning. It looks like a friend reading my astrology chart. It looks like laughter in the kitchen because there’s so very little we understand, and so much desire to figure it out. A girl cries out- can I buy my way to sobriety? Walk to outpatient therapy. Look at the cloudless sky, the sun shining so bright. When you come home and cry, we will discuss this at the dinner table. We all see what’s being said in the kitchen. And we love you for it. There’s time, babygirl. Time to learn what the sun looks like and nothing but time to stay where it’s warm.