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Buster

March 23, 2015

If I stare at the mirror long enough it’s almost like I don’t have a face or a body and that makes me feel better. I keep checking to see if I can really be seen and the longer I stare the more I am convinced I don’t show anything.

I wonder how far my Dad has gone and know he will never come back and maybe that will make Mom better. Maybe she will look for me, the me inside me despite how I look on the outside. She always says I have his eyes. I want my own eyes and I don’t want his. I look over at the closet door where I keep my box and think about his dinner plate and here Buster bark outside the back door since the rain has stopped.

Walking down the stairs avoiding the creaky one smelling the pot of food no one really wanted to eat. The last supper or the first one depending on who you are in this house. I hear Mom in her room getting dressed and hope she won’t come back down tonight.

The phone rings and rings and neither of us pick it up. Outside the window the grass and trees are a deeper green because of the lightning. The storm that makes things grow.

I wonder how long it will be before she packs up the whole house and we move just incase he comes back to find us.

I don’t think it will be long so I go out the back door and let Buster back in the house and don’t care if he rolls around on the couch to get dry. His wet footprints track across the kitchen. The birds are back to singing in the dogwood tree. The sun has come back out falsely shining for a short time before the sun gives up and goes to bed. It’s almost tomorrow everyday at this time.

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