The phone rings once before her slender fingers cradle the receiver. She isn’t the only one who skipped our mandatory family afternoon nap; I stand by the door, not daring to step inside. He’s horizontal, right arm thrown over his eyes, body motionless. After a hushed phone conversation, she ushers me to the yard where my sister plays with red centipedes. The sun’s scorching, devouring the sky, our skin, the olive grass beneath my toes. I refuse to blink. “I got the job,” she whispers, throwing her arms around us. We’re moving 1,437 miles away. Without him. Toward freedom.
Debdutta Pal would rather be watching Netflix, but her brain demands some conscious decluttering. Her work can be found on Medium and Substack.