As It Turned Out

The sinister thwacking in the night turned out to be the cord to draw the blinds,
tracing circles in the steady stale exhale of the AC unit, tapping the wall. The self-
portrait turned out as well as it could have. The drinks turned out to be a date after all.
After all that time we spent together I still didn't think I knew her at all. It turned out
we weren't in love. It turned out there isn't a purgatory, according to the Catholics.
The cough turned out to be cancer, returned. The last day of school turned out to come
sooner than I ever thought. Her last day was sooner than we all had expected. Her son
would turn out just fine, we all said, as he cried silently in the first pew of the too-big
chapel, empty even with our crowd. I turned my face up towards the light, hoping
for anything, anything. I turned out my pockets at security. Empty. I turned into stone.
I turned into crystal, lit from within, dim like the salt lamps they sell
at museum gift shops, touted for healing properties; in truth just a desk-light
that's slowly eroding, leaving a film of white dust on your fingers when touched.