Roof

by George

I was worried you had fallen – literally, not figuratively, and was afraid to call so not to interrupt if you hadn’t. Concern got the best of me as I imagined all sorts of horrible injuries, long term physical handicaps that I would have to tend to after I had just experienced a healthy glimpse of life without you, and the painful death caused by the fall, so proceeded to call both numbers every 30 minutes (and the hospital) to get a response so I could breathe and go to bed. A text message arrived at 4:22am with the logical explanation that you had gone straight to bed at 2:00am and just woke up. You hadn’t been home long enough to check the missed calls on the home phone so you were trapped a lie and didn’t know it, so you presented me with violent protests, and diagnosed of my level of craziness while failing to recall that the cell left behind or turned off, everything in your home password protected, and the lies are all part of the game I invented, so it’s easy for me to identify the, now, four month harmless untruths that fall out of you so easily. I was relieved that you were OK and that I wasn’t indentured into making certain your feeding tube was sterilized each day. Pity, really, you didn’t fall to your death thereby releasing me under the moon the three of us so enthusiastically shared from different night skies.

6S

George is writing to relieve the pressure in her head, because the Advil isn’t working, and a gun is out of the question. She is the author of Hellerick's Farm.