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  • And So, and: Last Supper
  • Denise Duhamel (bio)

And So

And so it came to pass—that on January 21, 2009, the day afterthe inauguration, you came backto pick up your stuff that I put in the middleof the living room with a rope around it.I'd left quarters on the table to feed the meter—my last codependent gesture, [End Page 10] so your rental wouldn't get towed.And so it came to pass—that the first friend I calledafter you disappeared 132 days agoand his son, who helped meset up a Facebook account so I couldtry to talk you out of suicide,met you to pack up those boxesand bags and suitcases into a rented suvwhile I was lying in a hotel rooman hour north under a white comforterwith a mustard stainI'd put there myselfeating a sandwich in bed the day before.I couldn't eat todayas I thought of you in the apartment again.My friend told me that you couldn't fiteverything into the suv, so you gave hima couple of your typewritersand a film projector and left mewith a few paintings to either keepor throw away. How did he look?I asked. Chubby, smoking a cigarette.So I revised my joke—when peopleasked how much weight I'd lostI upped the punch line, "Two hundredand fifty pounds . . . Twenty of my ownplus my ex." I'm not sure how muchyou really weighed, though you used to standon the scale when we first walkedinto the supermarket like you werea giant pineapple from produce.You'd say, "Hey, I lost two pounds,"or something like that. I would neverhave weighed myself in public/Publix,and I stood away, near the carriages,to give you privacy. That's how freaked out [End Page 11] I was. I didn't want to monitoryour weight anymoreor the diabetes you ignored,your glucose meter full of dustwhen I crammed it between your sweatshirtsand socks in the suitcase.I didn't want to monitor your pornor your sleep habits or your blog.And so it came to pass—that while we were separatedObama was elected.I wept watching the first couple dance,weeping with America,weeping with relief,but also weeping for usbecause you were born the same yearas Michelle and I, the same yearas Barack, and we were marriedthe same year as they werein the same church,the United Church of Christ,and what had we donewith our lives so farexcept make a giant mess?No Malia, no Sasha, nohypoallergenic pup.And so it came to pass—you called me as you drove awayfor the last time because you knewI wasn't home. When I checkedmy messages I heard you say—hey, I got my stuff. Casual,like it was no big deal.It startled me to hearyour voice again. The police told mewhen you vanishedin September that you'd call [End Page 12] within 24 hoursif you still were aliveand when that didn't happenthey admitted this was a very strange case.When you started writing threatsand the police posted the safety alertthey listed you as 5%10&, two inchestaller than you actually were.Your weight listed as 260 pounds.No one asked me for your statistics.Could you really have weighed that much?And so it came to pass—that I slept again at last,on the fourth day after you left.Or rather, so it came to pass—that I passed out, with my cell phonein one hand and the cordlessin the other. And so it came to pass—that today I waited for my friendto call to give me an update,to say you were quiet, mostly,that it was a little weird, that you didn't askabout me at all. And so it came to pass—that you seemed happy, well, as happyas you could...

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