I cried last weekend, a loud, unattractive sob. I was in the car alone when I felt it coming on, like a sneeze. I pulled into an empty parking lot, put the car in park, and gave in to the emotion completely. Tears flooded, my mascara ran and my mouth contorted into that scary cry smile--lips pulled tight, teeth clenched, tongue tied, strange caveman noises erupting from deep inside my throat. I pulled a spare napkin from the glove box after a few minutes and began Disaster Recovery. Dotting, blotting, dabbing, wiping. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Yikes.
Mid-cry, I started gathering my scattered thoughts. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried, really cried, like this. There was a certain satisfaction in letting go, not fighting to be in control of my emotions. A cry is cleansing, I thought. I should cry more often.
When I was done, I folded the napkin into a small wad and tucked it in my garbage bag. I took a deep breath and blew the air from my limp lower lip up to my forehead, the amen of a proper cry. I put the car in drive.
And when I got home, I took two Extra Strength Pamprin.