There was an incident in the other ward and we found each other poked out from our doors to listen in. The staff usually trawling the halls, they were gone. She took me by her tiny hand and steered me into the dayroom. Her fingers were the first to touch me in weeks. She put on coffee, stood on a chair, pulled cigarettes and a lighter from the top of a cabinet, dropped them on the table, folded herself up, said Here, you sit here. And the life stories began, like all life stories begin on nights like this one.
Robert Hoekman Jr is an American writer. He teaches creative writing through the Stanford Continuing Studies Program and lives with his dog in Richmond, Virginia.