All Who are Weary

I made the cab driver let me out at the house on the corner with the green roof. At the time I thought I had convinced him to drop me off at some place he was not supposed to and that my superb negotiating had offered me a daring escape from what surely awaited me at his intended destination. At the time I was still kind of drunk.

I knew the back door would be unlocked, and I stepped softly through the kitchen to the room that used to be a screened-in porch but was now a bedroom. I tried to enter silently, but the door, with its twelve individual panes of glass, refused to fit the doorway and reverberated loudly when I pushed it open. He opened his eyes.

“What happened to you?” he asked, appraising the hospital bracelet on my wrist, the bruises on my hand from the IV, the EKG electrodes still adhered to my skin, peeking out from below my collarbone.

“I need to sleep,” I answered, and he moved over to let me crawl into bed next to him. Continue reading

True Devotion

I had been back in the States three days when Rocky Votolato played a living room show in Kansas City. It should have been the most normal thing in the world: back in my hometown, seeing Rocky with Weston, getting back to life as it was before I studied abroad. But I was still reeling. I sat on a pillow on the floor next to my boyfriend who I didn’t even know how to interact with anymore and listened as Rocky played my favorite songs. Our favorite songs.

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