Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Home is where the heart is

A week and still no word from Stephanie, the last echoes of the sounds she made have vanished, just like her. If I listen closely through the walls I can hear her next door neighbor playing the piano until long after midnight. I met him in the hallway today, his arm brushed against my back as he passed by, leaving traces of Givenchy Blue Label on the air and all around me.

Mother can leave and stay away for months, I never worry because I'm used to the way she slips in and out of her different personalities. Mostly everything I know about her was pieced together by fragments of stories, things she told me in passing. This is how I know that escaping once was enough for her.

When my father disappeared and came back I would always be afraid that the next time he wouldn't. I remember the sound of his keys in the lock so vividly, his voice in the living room and his sudden warmth. He would wrap his big arms around me, wipe the tears from my eyes and say "angel, remember that whatever happens I will always love you".

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