1. Close the car door in Vermont, Sunday, July 5th, 10.47 pm. Open it four hours later, in Massachusetts, into the world after.
2. Wake the next morning with a headache. Remember an article you briefly skimmed about how to get rid of a headache in five minutes or less. You are supposed to imagine the shape of the headache, but what shape would a headache be? Drink water and take Advil instead, because you are not in the mood to deal with this.
3. Because it is too much to think about the buildings, the smell of the library basement, the arrangement of the cups in the dining hall, think instead of the night you had some unexpectedly strong pot, then walked back across campus and while you stood in your dorm room, thought, “I’m so high my cheeks are buzzing.” Then you typed this sentence into an empty document: “Getting high and staying up late does not qualify as a poor life choice. there are worse things she could do, worse things she will do.”
4. In the world after, you spend one evening playing Bananagrams with the words “clit,” “iamb,” “quickly,” and “reed.” Someone else plays “bandit,” “pervert,” and “private.”
5. There is crying, the unfinished kind, because you are still worried about what it would be to completely cry, so you will wait until either it catches you off guard and you have no choice, or the urge vanishes all together. You are afraid of both these things.
6. In the world after, you have to think hard about the other things you want, because this thing you just did eclipsed all of them for so long. Right now, you would like a road map to something, but also to do what you do best – trash the fucking map and make your own.