Straight to the Ground.

That time I fainted instantly in the hallway.

Hardwooden floor.

We were in Brentwood.

I woke up right away,

and my roommate was right there.

Drove me straight to the CVS Pharmacy down the road.

I felt taken care of.

I was 24.

Eating dinner like a child.

Cross-legged on the kitchen floor.

My back against the cabinet.

A podcast was playing, just four feet to my right as my phone lied on that sharp-cornered table by the back door.

“It’s too late for dinner,” I told myself.

“But the house is quiet, my body is tired and actually, quite actually, I am content," I argued back.

Some of the worst period cramps I have ever had.

(Is that becoming a regular thing for me now?)

I hated those 30 minutes.

Just waiting on time to pass.

And thinking to myself,

“What do men have to go through?”

Lying down on the grass at Shelby Park in my favorite navy blue dress at the time.

I didn’t mind getting dirty and, “Don’t worry, it’s a play dress,” I consoled.

I felt so present, so young, so alive underneath that quiet night sky, 

the sky that matched my dress.

Time stopped, and I was really falling for this guy.

When I was told over the phone that I was cheated on.

Straight to the ground.

Straight to the comfort of warm summer concrete at the top of my driveway.

My body?

Numb.

Asleep.

Broken.

And I remember not feeling surprised.

Sometimes we go straight to the ground because that’s all we know how to do.

Sometimes because we are human and our bodies are tired and our knees hurt and it's been a long day. 

And most times?

The ground is everything.