Springtime took a turn, and I wear my sunburn underneath long sleeves, pants and sweater and wool socks.
The wind is so strong and tosses the new leaves and branches, that move like water through the air and the pear blossoms have blown away. Old windows jiggle against the payne, and every now and then through the night, I wake up startled to what sounds like the house collapsing, or the roof coming off. I pretend I’m sleeping on a ship that’s sailing through the sea to get myself to fall back asleep again. Bill and I have always wanted to do that, go on a Maritime voyage. I hope we do it soon, the older I get, it seems the more fearful I become.
Emerson came through here in a haze. For a moment I caught an angle of him, and I couldn’t recognize him as my brother. I began to wonder if he was someone just posing as my brother, and for a second I thought, who’s this thug sitting on my couch?
He was very matter of fact, observing that I did something different with my hair. My heart ached a little. I’m exaggerating. My heart ached a lot.
“It’s not like I’m dying,” he said.
In the meantime, I feel a little like I live with zombies. They vomit and poo in the corners. They sneak up behind, they sneak up in front, they scratch on the doors, one even turned the doorknob? They run off to places and jump onto places they’re not supposed to. They stare.
I pick one up. She clings to my chest, gets comfortable and purrs. They love to be loved. Do they miss him? They run to the door whenever either of us returns. Were they hoping it was him? They’re waiting patiently, on the couch. I hope he comes back for them like he said he would. My therapist said it’s o.k. to be hopeful, just not to the point where if things don’t work out the way they should, that I become hurt.