Axis

By JOSEPH FELKERS

I’ve loved plenty of cities by now but none quite like you

Boston, your winding roads that refuse to take pattern

and trains that I can ride as far as time allows. I watch

each car as it passes. Young people going home; access to adventure.

So, Boston...

there are a few things I want to tell you

but I cannot keep them much longer, no.

I must deny the past, must respectfully disagree...

—

This one wintry evening, we couldn’t wait at the bus stop any longer

so we stepped inside to warm our hands. We stood there, completely silent.

For a moment, I think I may have stopped breathing. But, we still wanted to

so we took the bus. One drink, real quick, this bar a few dozen blocks away

with low lighting, tints of red in the swirling air, bleach blond waitress accepting

cash only, vintage merchandise hanging, “One Way Or Another” t-shirt behind

the bartender making mixed drinks, that’s all they have, denim, denim everywhere

and maybe... maybe you’d call it a little bit queer...

It made me think of Chicago.

Each city street and sidewalk, well-lit and navigable. This metro way of life

I was told to consider a gift. Lucky to be still alive at this point.

So I decided to kill this old Boston mindset that I find myself avoiding.

—

And so home I went. The Midwest was somehow still there after all this time.

I picked up the phone, dialed my mother through heavy tears, realizing that

life as I liked it was coming to an end.

For the second time in two years, I was

completely shattered to pieces.

The waitress sees me crying outside

and stops to ask if I’m okay.

—

If they take me away one day let this be clear:

I am never ready to speak. Need time to calm myself

and breathe. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep

I say again to myself. Besides, she had been drinking.

I could smell it coming from her face.

—

from: Felkers, Joseph <josephfelkers@gmail.com>

to: Graham, Jorie <jgraham@harvard.edu>

date: Mar 8, 2023, 3:45AM

subject: Season’s Greetings —

Hey Jorie,

It seems you don’t answer my messages anymore, and that’s okay, I understand. But I’m in one of those moods where I can’t help but try and reach you again. I once would’ve apologized for the timing of this message, but we both know that’s unnecessary by now. I always wonder how you’re doing, especially in the spring, but hear that the reality might be unwell. That makes me sorry to hear, but also in a way partially understandable. I am thankful that I personally avoid most of the somatic pains but still I find myself fighting day after day a battle that I only see growing increasingly impossible. I spend most all of most every day sleeping, occasionally eating, mostly waiting. Doctor’s visits pretty frequently, therapy once a week, and — oh — I almost forgot. I’ve started to pray. I was walking past my father one evening, looked him right in the eyes (which I don’t normally do) and he mumbled, night, love you... and for once I said nothing in return. I think I like it better this way, in some regards. Of course, my mother is always asking me if what I tell her is true. I’ll make it out again I keep saying, trying to get by. I can see it now. You know, I used to have a lot more friends. But it was back when I was nicer, before I started to get a little unwell, and I’m sure they all already knew about my growing drinking problem. But, I just hit 100 days sober. I had to quit my drinking because it kept putting me in these strange situations. I’d love to tell you about them sometime. I don’t really care much for this world or my current position in it, but I genuinely hope that changes soon, for real this time.

So, if you could get back to me whenever you can, let me know how you are, I’d appreciate it. Or not — that’s fine too. It’d be nice to hear from you.

All my best,

Joseph

—

For years I would continue to drink against my better judgment. I’d take

any excuse I got. Laundry day, for example. Now I hear any spin cycle

and think of Summer ‘22 and the long walk to the laundromat. It’s blast

of sudden cool air as relief from the city asphalt radiation, a pedestrian mirage.

—

I worry that my parents might divorce me for good one day. Once I would’ve

said it was because of my alcoholism but these days there seems to be

no reason at all. I look at this houseplant I’ve had about two years now

and wonder if that means I’m ready for love yet. But even if so

I see it going like always:

They start to tell me, all them like the rest, they all start exactly the same

that it is too much to handle. I know this is what they say

for I have heard it many times.

—

If you’re wondering why a child would leave their parents for good, try

to imagine mine. I’ve done it, written my final goodbye.

My mother would stutter, look at me with tired eyes and say as she has

over and over, you have a serious problem, as if neither of us cared

how we made the other feel. But I’ve been seeing this new guy

a specialized therapist. His office is always dim and he sits across from me

leans forward and says you’re still doing it. This you have. This one thing.

This one thing no one can take from you. Do not let it get away from you.

And, with me, you don’t need to feel bad for always

talking about yourself.