1.
Beth tells me that she wants us to try and be friends, for Sasha's sake. Beth tells me that she knows that this will probably be hard for us at first, since we were never really friends to begin with but she thinks that if we make an effort we could definitely reach that point, eventually. I just nod my head and agree with her. I just sip my awful coffee out of its tiny paper cup and continue to nod my head and continue to agree with her. I keep doing this keep agreeing and sipping long after the point where it's appropriate. I realize that it's no longer appropriate when I catch her staring at me. Holding her own cup of terrible coffee with both hands, and because she uses both hands I can see the engagement ring on her finger sparkle and sparkle and sparkle. Maybe if I hadn't seen it I would have told her what I'd been thinking but because I had seen it there's absolutely no fucking way. "I have to go to the bathroom." I say.
The bathroom is clean and I can't help but appreciate that. I flush the toilet and walk to the sink and I prolong leaving by washing my hands as slowly and thoroughly as I possibly can, then I just leave them there under the water watching the soap rinse away.
What I had been thinking is that I didn't agree with her and also I didn't understand.
She had always, always been my dearest friend.

2.
It's 12:30 in the morning or maybe it's 12:30 at night I'm not really sure and I am having difficulties understanding how exactly I reached this moment. I am sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a too small room next to the woman that I love and the world is breaking. "Sasha wanted a costume party for her birthday." I hear her say. I close my eyes and rub my head I think maybe I'm starting to get a headache. "I told her costume parties are really more of a Halloween thing." Beth has a voice that cracks and cracks when she's scared or upset or angry or excited. Through out this entire sentence her voice has cracked and cracked like an old blues album. I open my eyes and say, "Why would you say that?"
I look at her and say, "Why the hell would you say that?"
I am looking down at the floor and it comes out of my mouth and for a second I'm not even sure that I'm saying it because it's just a meaningless whisper.
"You bitch."
Once upon a time Beth said that my voice reminded her of a little beagle puppy. The way she imagined a little beagle puppy at the pound would speak if it could speak.
This was back when she loved me.
I'm looking down at the floor still but I glance up for a second and see her, still holding her coffee with both hands staring down inside of it like she expects it to tell her something. I can see the engagement ring gleam and then I look away.
"Fuck you, you fucking asshole." I hear her say my eyes glued to the floor.
"I fucking hate you."
Beth has a voice like tinsel.

3.
Beth says that she didn't mean it.
And I say that I didn't mean it.
And we both make plans to move on.
Beth says that she meant it when she said that she wanted us to try and be friends.
She says that it's very, very important to her.
I ask her how Ben is doing.
She says Don't.
Please don't.

4.
I am having difficulties focusing on the situation at hand. I am moving back and forth through time while my body stays exactly where it is and doesn't move except to pee and get more coffee and neither of us are opening our mouths anymore. Every time we hear any kind of movement we turn and lift our heads. But it's never for us and because it's never for us it never matters.
Sitting across from me is a girl with skin so pale I can almost see through it and bright, bright, burning red hair. She's wearing pale jeans and a large blue sweatshirt that says University of Pennsylvania. She's reading something but she's holding the book so that her fingers cover the title.
"What are you reading?" I ask.
"What?" Beth is confused, "are you talking to me? I'm not reading anything."
The girl hasn't even looked up.
At this point I can't say anything.
At this point I am embarrassed.
There are so many days when no one can hear me.

5.
Beth has hair the color of a dull penny and she hates it. So once a month she dyes it a smooth, lovely, caramel. She has freckles that cover her arms, all over her arms no matter the time of year. When I kiss her, when I could kiss her I would always taste cigarettes in her mouth that ashy, terrible taste. When we first met she told me she only smoked when she was stressed and she was rarely ever stressed. She was smiling when she said this. The last few weeks of kissing her the cigarette taste was so constant and strong afterwards I would have to brush my teeth spitting in the sink day after day mint and tar, day after day.
A few days before the last kiss she caught me in the bathroom and I expected nothing, no reaction, but what I got was her staring at me and then she started to cry.
"Why do you do that?!" She had asked me.
"Why do you always do that?"
There were so many things that I didn't appreciate not even a little bit.

6.
I am in the bathroom again and I when I walk out she is standing by the door and waiting for me.
She smiles a smile that looks painful. "Do you have irritable bowel syndrome or something?"
And I say, "Yes."
And she looks at me and I can see a corner of her hurtful, hateful smile begin to lapse. Just slightly, just for a second.
And then she coughs out something that might be a laugh and I cough out something that might be a laugh and we cough and we cough: ha, ha, ha, ha.

7.
In a hospital bed our daughter sleeps.
The doctors say she looks worse than she actually is. Just like it, the accident, looked worse than it actually was. She'll be fine, they say. Just a few bruises. Just a few broken bones. In a day or two she'll be fine. What she needs is rest, the doctors say, what she needs is rest and then she'll be fine. I see a doctor's lips moving but it's 1:00 in the morning or maybe it's 1:00 at night. The red headed girl sips her coffee, yawns, turns a page in her book.
The doctor's lips move and move and I'm hearing words that he can't possibly be saying.
"We can make her better than she was before. We can make her stronger. We can make her faster."
I'm sleep deprived and losing my mind.
"But she's okay?" I hear myself asking.
"She's okay?" I hear Beth asking.
"She'll be fine." the doctor says, "a few broken bones, a few bruises, she'll be fine."

8.
"Oh my god," Beth says collapsing back into the waiting room chair, "oh my god, oh my god, thank god."
"I want to see her." Is it me saying this or is it her? Or is it both? I don't know but…
"I need to see her." And we get up and we're walking to the room.

9.
There was a bird.
A tiny broken bird laying in our back yard.
"Daddy!" Sasha yelled, "Mommy!"
And we were both there in seconds. Beth a second sooner than me.
"What is it? What happened?"
And sweet Sasha she pointed and her lip was already trembling and the tears were already falling.
"It's hurt." she said.
It's tiny chest rose and fell. One eye was open and blinking. Soft brown feathers (most likely brand new) rose and fell.
"Oh no," Beth said.
"Can we help it?" Sasha asked.
"Oh baby, I don't think we can."
"Are we gonna have to bury it?" Sasha asked.
It wasn't dead yet but Beth took Sasha's hand and they walked inside to look for a shoe box and left me outside alone with the bird.
At this point of the marriage Beth and I we were still sleeping in the same bed.
But we didn't touch anymore.
I kneeled down.
I picked the little bird up.
It's tiny chest rose and fell.
It's back, it's sides were sticky with blood.
I couldn't stop staring at it. It's tiny open eye closed.
"Toby?"
I turned around and there was my daughter and there was my wife.
Sasha held up the shoebox inside was toilet paper, lots and lots of toilet paper.
The tiny birds chest didn't rise and it didn't fall.
"Put it in here Daddy."
I did.
And for a second I saw the baby bird falling and sinking into all the whiteness and softness, then Sasha covered it with the lid and we followed her to the spot she wanted us to start digging.
My right hand was covered in little bird blood.
Beth was staring at me.
I didn't know she was going to do it until she did it.
Her hand moved slowly…and then it was in mine. My fingers moved slowly and then they were covering hers and I was looking at her and she was looking at me.
"Are we gonna start now?" Sasha asked.
Beth let go of my hand.
"Yeah," I said, "let's start."