Monday, August 3, 2015
overheard at 49th Parallel
Groggy and mouth parched, I roll to my side and reach for Miranda. She must already be up. Her side of the bed is cool and I stretch out, star-fished, and open my eyes once and for all. She comes into the room, an oversized black T-shirt, threadbare around the collar, and paint stained jeans. She holds a glass of water. I sit. She hands it to me. She raises her eyebrows.
“You did it again,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.
“You left. You sleepwalked out the door.”
“I found you in Tony and James’ garden, pruning their roses.”
She reaches for my hands. They’re cut up and dotted with dried blood.
“I’m putting a hidden lock on the door. What if you get hit by a car?! What if you-”