CW // suicidal ideation When I pick up the phone, she’s sobbing. She says he’s talking about death, not in the abstract like usual, but within the hour. She hands him her phone and goes to clean herself up—a swim meet is no place to bawl openly. The first thing I say to him is that he made her cry: accusatory. He apologizes, then says he means all of it, the death included. I beg, plead, and finally read him the poem about guardian angels that I’d written back when he first started talking to us like this. He promises to see me tomorrow.
Linnea Peterson is a nonbinary, autistic writer and communications professional from Minnesota. Find Linnea at linneapeterson.com/ and on Twitter @LPetersonWrites.