"Sandy, do you have a nine-year-old daughter?" Hyper-alert, pulled from work's reverie, I hesitantly said, "Yes."
Penelope is a rat. She lives in my daughter's room and likes to sit on my shoulder and snuffle in my ear.
We talked about my week at school or a movie we planned to see. Suddenly my mom would say “There’s your husband!”
First bite, no problem. Second bite felt wrong: cold and squishy.
Gingerly, I hang that old-fashioned orb of sparkle on a pine branch. Glass ornaments can shatter so easily.
I look at her smoking-ruined face and can't imagine the pain she is in.
The crowd of four-year-olds rushed and shouted behind the placid teacher. "Allez, Allez!"
I could play devil’s advocate about your t-shirt, but I won’t.
Every movement impulse sent from brain to body was measured, defensive. Being awake and outside at that hour had cracked the shell of security formed by months of carefully-monitored routine.
I arrive prepared, having typed my concerns beforehand. I’ve been summoned for a meeting with my coach and some board members
He grabs the dusty cardboard box and bustles down the attic ladder and into the living room. I follow.
Shhh...listen. I swear I just heard someone whisper *bananas* over the store Muzak!
Enjoying rare solitude, I breathe, feeling invisible under the leafy ceiling. A flash and clap break my reverie.
The lifelike robot had blended in on the train seamlessly.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”
After,
I stood on the street
as the drunken city hurtled past,
broke around me in eddies.
The boys bound ahead down the steep path, and the dog pulls at her leash. My footing, accustomed to sidewalks, remains unsure.
I am brave. Small spaces terrify me. I hate my fear.
I spent hours, days, weeks playing an online form of poker called Pai Gow. Finally, I was ready.
“Do you remember when we first started dating?” he had asked me. I had nodded, with a small smile on my lips before he finished his thought with a laugh. “I loved you more back then.”