49. Patrick Wolf “The City” Lupercalia [Mercury]
“You’re worth more than how this city lets you down.”
Keys in your pocket and a shock of new platinum blonde hair (it was new to me, anyway) bouncing in the sun, you were happy to be home when I saw you standing there on the porch trying to pick up all of your suitcases at once and get them in the door. I didn’t help you; sorry, I couldn’t. That garish pale blue one spilled out all over the hardwood floors as the storm door snapped close on your sneaker and I saw a colorful drawing on a piece of construction paper skid through the air toward me. Sophie must have made it while you were visiting her at your parents. I didn’t pick it up; sorry, I just couldn’t. You scrambled exhaustively to pick everything back up but then decided to just shove it all into a pile underneath the bay window because you needed desperately to take your jacket off and throw it onto the coat hook. It was nearly 90 degrees in the house and you had yet to turn on the air conditioning. (You were always stubborn about that.) I thought about turning it on anyway, but luckily for you, I couldn’t. You saw the drawing after you surveyed the main floor (for what, I’m still not sure) and you started towards it, I assume to kick it over to the pile of travel evidence, but then stopped. I swear you must have felt something. Or heard something. Was it me? I hope so. I’ve been waiting in this living room so long. We looked at the drawing simultaneously yet not together. It was one of those crude family diagram affairs. There was grandma, grandpa, you, and Sophie. I wasn’t in it. Seven years old and she had gotten past it. I could tell by the look on your face you hadn’t, though. It’s selfish of me; I realize this. However, it made me feel like I had waited this long for a reason.
