Open Water Caleb Nelson (books to read for self improvement .TXT) 📖

then to the living room. When the anxieties visit in the night, you like to watch rappers freestyling, because there is something wonderful about watching a Black man asked to express himself on the spot, and flourishing. You load up a video you’ve seen before on your phone and nod along in the dark. The first time you heard Kendrick say, ­Ha-­ha, joke’s on you, ­high-­five, I’m bulletproof, your shots’ll never penetrate, those lyrics sailed over your head, obscured by that instrumental and the playful jest of your favourite rapper. Now, you want to repurpose them for a future you could live in the present. You would like to be bulletproof. You would like to believe the shots will never penetrate. You would like to feel safe.

Over the next couple of days, you can’t stop thinking about a scene in John Singleton’s Boyz n the Hood, where Tre arrives at his girlfriend Brandi’s house, after being stopped while driving by the police. The stop is routine. The policemen, one Black, one white, tell Tre and his friend to get out of the car. They bend them over the hood, while Tre, the more vocal of the pair, insists that they have done nothing wrong. With this insistence, Tre is asking the Black police officer searching him, Why are you doing this? This question sparks a wick forever smouldering. The policeman cocks his gun and digs it into Tre’s neck. Tears stream down Tre’s cheeks, meeting at his chin. The policeman doesn’t answer directly, but with his actions he is saying, I am doing this because I can.

When Tre enters Brandi’s living room, she asks him what’s wrong. He replies, Nothing. He says this because to be him is to apologize and often that apology comes in the form of suppression, and that suppression is also indiscriminate. He explains that he is tired. He has had enough. That he wants ­to – There are not words for what he wants to do. He begins to swing at the air because he must get this out of him. He must explain. He must be heard. He swings at the air, large swipes, hoping to catch that which surrounds and often engulfs. He begins to moan, low and stifled. He wants to believe that Brandi’s comforting will alleviate the situation, if only a little, but still the tears come. The mourning continues.

But we cool, we real cool, playing it cool. Keeping it real, cool, until –

‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I’m good,’ you say. And you are. Despite the fact the incident in Dublin a few days prior has stayed with you, despite the fact your concentration keeps drifting towards this memory and the paths it could have gone down, despite this, you’re good in her presence. Or at least, you believe yourself to be.

‘You don’t have to be,’ she says. She takes your hand in hers and rubs the thumb over the back of your palm. ‘But share with me. I just want you to be OK.’

‘Same. Same.’ This is a different room from the one you know together, but the routine is the same. The dimness of a sidelight flooding the room in a short glow. Your smiling figures cast shadows against her yellow walls.

Your few days together have been spent doing nothing really, which is something, is an intimacy in itself. Outside now, the ground is wet, but it has not rained. You both prefer the warmth but you like the rain and its quiet noise. You spend your last day together trying to remain present. Akin to pushing Sisyphus’ rock up one of the city’s bigger hills, only for it to roll back down with every shove.

‘You’re far away,’ she says, returning you to the present. ‘Don’t hide from me.’

22

Whenever she asks if you are OK, you nod, mute, convincing her, trying to convince yourself. Then she asks you, are you sure? To be you is to apologize and often that apology comes in the form of suppression and that suppression is indiscriminate. Except here you must unfold your arms and from your chest say, you are tired. That you have had enough. That you want ­to – There are not words for what you want to do. You begin to choke and gulp for air as tears stream down your cheeks. Moan, low and stifled. You must explain. You must be heard. You think you are alone in this until you realize, she is with you too. You want to believe that her comfort can alleviate the situation but only if you allow yourself to be held. You do not need to apologize here. When she asks, are you OK, do not fear the truth. Besides, she knows before you speak. There’s no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith. Suck at the snake’s bite, spit out the venom at your feet. Gaze at the fading scar but do not dwell. Do not hide but do not dwell. There’s no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith.

Faith is turning off the light and trusting the other person will not murder you in your sleep. This is basic, audacious. Name your love. Name the sweet whispers exchanged in the darkness. Name the beauty of imagining your partner’s fluttering eyelids as she dreams in her waking moments. How beautiful is beauty? You can find her lips with your eyes closed. Nothing more durable than a feeling. Tell her you’re scared of being taken from her. Tell her what you struggle to tell yourself on some days. Tell her you love her and know what comes with these words. Describe the image of God in the darkness: the crooks of her long, slender limbs, catching light, even in the dark; features slack, eyes closed, lips turned up in a slight smile, cheeks pulling up with them, a small, pleasurable sigh slipping from her mouth every so often; the way