"7 Times I Cried Immediately"
- A misstep in the tuning process, an involuntary act gone awry. The slight turn of a peg giving way to a sharp metallic snap, and the tears falling as quickly and suddenly as the guitar string hitting the wooden floor of my room. I pick it up from the end still attached and feel the lack of weight.
- The air is crowded and the crowd is pressing in around me. Everyone is straining to hear the singer’s voice through faraway pulsing speakers, but I don’t need to listen because I know every word of my favorite song. My eyes close and the energy envelops me, and I don’t think if my tears are happy or sad, I only think of the moment.
- Our car has been idling in the driveway for six minutes and my mother and I have been sitting in tense silence for two and a half. I push away her attempts at conversation; I am as tightly closed as the balled fists I retain next to me in forced mitigation. The faint hum of the engine barely covers my wobbly breaths, and I am crying out of anger and frustration and terrible communication skills. You keep asking me what’s wrong and I keep my lips shut.
- Ryan Gosling watches as a blow-up doll in a casket is lowered into the ground. You and I watch the screen, astonished, and fold into each other simultaneously. We share body-racking sobs and we hold each other as the end credits roll, bound by blankets and shared sadness. Later, we consider emailing Netflix and asking for a warning next time. We are crying and I am holding you and I am smiling. I’m never been as happy wiping tears from my eyes as when I’m with you.
- Despite your insistence, I will never apologize for speaking my mind. I know it’s trivial but I also know that your words can hurt. I slam my bedroom door and you stomp down the stairs in response. We’re back in the routine; I bury my face in my pillow and pretend like my heart is made of iron while tomorrow’s mascara stains start drying in the dark purple fabric. And it’s like I can hear what you’re thinking as you loudly retreat to your office and your mind: it’s been 16 years, and some parts of this never change.
- My shoulders slam against the ground as I fall, my entire body shaking, unintelligible sounds coming out of my mouth. My friends watch, wide-eyed, as I convulse and shake like a demented rag doll. Tears leak out of my eyes, fast and frenzied. My cheeks ache and my sides are throbbing and I can’t get over this; this, the best joke I’ve ever made. When I can finally stand, I wipe away the tear tracks left on my face and wonder if there are any new patterns etched into my skin.
- Airplanes are the best at bringing out the sadness in me. I’ve never been comfortable with the feeling of being in-between. I put my saddest playlist on shuffle and wallow in melancholy. I scribble aimlessly in journals that I will lose in the piles in my room. I write down memories I wish I could forget, and feelings that I already have. I always wind myself up too tight and then act surprised when I break down. The tears start slowly, falling gently like the drops of condensation clinging to my window. The plane breaks through the clouds and I look to see if the skyscrapers have anything to tell me. It’s a shaky landing.
Narrative Nonfiction
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Damn Ruby, this was awesome.