by Jonna Beck
He never asks twice, but he always asks. I lie in this translucent state between awake and asleep wondering if he can tell that I want to fall asleep but can't and try to talk about the day before but instead I say, "The sheet is broken and all I could do was wrap it around my head." He rubs cream into my wounds, trying to heal the past, but the future rapidly infiltrates the interstitial space between here and there as Godamer the Cat climbs the curtains. Tomorrow, he'll take the car, and I'll walk, but today he walked. When I picked him up, the kitchen grease dripped from his shirt and all he said was, "You're late." We drove the five, long miles home in silence.
Jonna Beck attends Texas State University.