Fiction

I Am Penitent

I am penitent.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I forgot to pick up your mail.
I’m sorry I borrowed your shirt without asking.
I am sorry that I never called.
About last night, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I said that thing.
I’m sorry that the thing I said had to be said.
I am sorry about it all.
I apologize.

I offer my regrets I cannot attend Gordon’s bar mitzvah.
Here is a check for 53 dollars.

I’m sorry about the run in my stockings.
I’m sorry that I shaved one leg twice and the other not at all.
I’m sorry I mooned your parents.
I thought they were your adoptive parents.
I’m sorry I made your biological father feel my thighs to compare the hairy one to the shaved one.
I’m sorry your biological mother had to throw her iced tea in my face.
I just wanted to kiss her.
I’m sorry the dinner did not go as planned.
I’m sorry my credit card was declined.
I’m sorry my cat peed in your toaster.
I’m sorry I didn’t realize until I tried to make some toast.
I feel terrible that I left all the windows open and then we got that hurricane.
I was trying to be helpful.
When I try to be helpful I am usually the opposite. My mistake.

I offer my regrets I cannot attend Gordon’s graduation yacht party.
Here is a used car.

I’m sorry about that party.
I’m sorry I was late to that party.
I’m sorry I am early to most other parties.
I’m sorry I dress all wrong at parties.
I’m sorry I don’t know how or where to stand at parties.
I’m sorry I don’t talk at parties.
I’m sorry I talk too much at parties.
I’m sorry I tell the same stories at parties.
I’m sorry I told everyone that my cat peed in your toaster at that party.
I’m sorry I go to parties.
I drink too much,
and I don’t really recycle. My bad.

I offer my regrets I cannot attend Gordon and Sarah’s destination wedding.
Here is a toaster.

I’m sorry I don’t remember your middle name.
I’m sorry that I don’t remember your first name.
I wish it weren’t true,
but I feel terrible that my father fired your biological father.
I’m sorry that this is repetitive.
I’m sorry I kick your head in my sleep.
Forgive me my dreams of Jerry Orbach.
In my dreams he is an umpire,
and he declares me safe everytime.

I offer my regrets I cannot attend Gordon’s 50th birthday party.
Here is a layer cake.

I’m sorry I’m a girl.
I’m sorry I’m a masochist.
I’m sorry I’m a ball breaker.
Can I have your balls?
I’m sorry I asked.
I’m sorry I drop things.
Pardon my heart murmur.

I offer my regrets, I cannot attend Gordon’s retirement party.
Here is a handshake.

I’m sorry that in the exhausting realm of the universe, you are insignificant.
I’m sorry that in the exhausting realm of my universe, I am more significant.
I cannot drown out my thoughts for myself, and insert you.
But then again, I haven’t tried.
My apologies.

I offer my regrets I cannot attend Gordon’s funeral.
Here is a check for 53 dollars.

EMILY CULLITON is a recent graduate of the University of Massachusetts Amherst MFA program for Poets and Writers. She is currently living in New York City and working on a novel.

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