UNRAVELLING
sweaters, wild oranges, and threads
I’ve been thinking about how, like old sweaters, a relationship can unravel. As Hemingway wrote about going bankrupt: gradually, then suddenly.
“It’s good with her, but you have to take the salty with the sweet.” I didn’t correct him.
Wild oranges hung from gnarled trees in the ditch. We’d been grasping at our final threads. Him, kind, in a way, inviting me to come to Florida. Me, shredded, distance measured in miles and the spaces between touch. We walked that Cocoa road, hands unlinked, his breath lifting strands of my hair, lifting strands of hope. “Look,” he said, always a bounce to him, a shake of those dusty curls. Shoulder to shoulder, not eye to eye. “Oranges.”
When he left me the first time, she was radiant, deep and dark. My palms burned from trying to hold our thread. He wrote then, “It’s good with her, but you have to take the salty with the sweet.” I didn’t correct him. Generous as he was to share his new life. Didn’t write back, “bitter.”
When he left her, he called and I came, threads still tangled in my tender organs.
By the side of the road, the shock of oranges, dozens of them like gemstones weighing their branches. “Imagine that,” we exclaimed. “Wild oranges.” From tight sapphire segments, we pulled white threads of pith and marvelled at the dozens of tiny seeds, the fruit’s ability to thrive. How tenacious, how persistent.
When we were naked and new in the bathroom mirror, we laughed at how twin-like we were.
That time, when I had to leave, his head on my lap, his ears filled with salty threads.
After the labour of peeling their thin skins, they ran with juice, those oranges. Skin. That morning, he’d pointed like a school child, laughing at the ribbons of lotion on my skin. “You’re striped,” he said. My hands a blur, absorbing.
Our faces puckered, we spat seeds and small orange jewels into the long ditch grasses. “Sour,” he said.
“Bitter,” I said at last, the sound of a thread snapping loud in my ears.
Amherst Writers & Artists is always up to something. This month is no different. They’ve just launched their Substack. You’ll find lots of goodies there—prompts, craft articles, and various events and offerings.
In four time zones all through November, AWA affiliates are hosting 7:30 a.m. free Pyjama Writing hours. We get together to write in community, post our intentions in the chat, and at the end of the hour, post a snippet of something we’ve written. Feedback is in the supportive and encouraging AWA style.
Six spots remain. People have been asking for the total amount for the nine days. Since we are paying in Euros to the hosts and USD for facilitation, I can only give the approximate amount of $2000 USD. Plus eight dinners out, which will depend on what you eat and drink! And transportation, of course, which will depend on where you’re coming from. I would think $3000 would cover everything except flights.
Beautiful writing.
Lovely, Deepam!