5 Birth Months Who Carry The Weather Inside Them
Some people can tell you how their day went and still leave out how it felt. Nothing happened, they’ll say, while carrying a whole afternoon of thunder around the grocery store. Or everything went wrong, but they’re humming on the way home. For these five birth months, the day can look perfectly ordinary while something entirely different is happening inside.
March: The Rain You Bring Home
March, your friend has finished telling you about the interview. They didn’t get the job. They’re already making a joke about it, asking about your day, saying they should let you go. You hang up and stand in the kitchen a little longer than you meant to, holding the potato you were about to peel.
You keep thinking about how carefully they prepared. The shirt they showed you. The hopeful way they said the office was close enough to walk to. Dinner still needs making, and nothing has changed in your own life, but the evening has gone gray around the edges. When they send you something funny a few minutes later, you laugh, then find yourself wondering whether they’re really okay or just trying to make you feel better.
April: The Storm That Actually Passes
Everyone else is still being careful, April, and you’ve already asked what they want for lunch. You were upset. You said so. The person who changed your shared plans without checking has apologized and agreed to call next time. As far as you’re concerned, the conversation has reached its natural end.
Your face gave away every bit of the annoyance while it was happening. Now it gives away your interest in the sandwich menu, which someone seems to find suspicious. They ask whether you’re sure you’re okay. You are. You can remember why you were angry without having to stay angry, and the clearing is as sincere as the storm. You’d just like to know whether anybody wants to split the fries.
July: Sunshine With Rain Still Falling
July, the family gathering is going well. Someone has brought out a game with half the pieces missing. Two people are arguing over rules neither of them remembers. You’re laughing when you catch yourself turning toward the place your grandmother would have sat, because she would have had an opinion about all of this.
For a moment, you can almost hear her accusing somebody of cheating. You miss her with a force that surprises you, right in the middle of enjoying yourself. Then someone makes the exact complaint she would have made, and you laugh again, this time with wet eyes. The room is still warm and ridiculous. You wish she were in it.
August: Sunshine Before Anything Happens
The tickets have been booked for weeks, August. The show is still a month away. This has not stopped you from considering what to wear, imagining the opening song, or sending your friend a message that says nothing except the number of days remaining.
On a thoroughly unimpressive Tuesday, you remember those tickets while waiting for the washing machine to finish. Suddenly you’re playing the album. You’re folding towels with considerably more feeling than the task requires. Nothing about your Tuesday has changed, but now you’re singing through the boring part. For now, an ordinary Tuesday has music in it, and your friend has sent back an even less restrained reply.
November: The Thaw When You Get Home
November, you stay remarkably calm when your manager tells you your job is being eliminated. You ask about your last day, write down the details, and remember to take your bag when you leave. Even you begin to think you’re handling it remarkably well.
At home, someone asks whether you want company. They don’t ask for the full account. They sit beside you while you work out where to begin, and halfway through a sentence, your voice gives way.
You’d held everything so still that the tears surprise you. A minute ago, you were explaining the parking situation. Now you’re accepting a tissue and admitting how frightened you were. The person beside you settles further into the couch. You have time to finish telling them.