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Buster

May 19, 2015

The phone ringing in the kitchen is muffled with all the covers over my head. Molly is up and will get it. I can lay here a bit longer. In the half sleep half wake I am feeling pretty neutral and then I remember and like when a wave catches you off guard at the beach and pounds you instantly into the sand beneath it I huff out in a whisper, “Fucker.” I toss the covers off and get up and I don’t look in the mirror. The phone stopped ringing but then starts again.

It’s my mother. I know it. I don’t know how she knows but she must. Maybe the fucker called her as one more giant thing to shit all over in the guise of worry for Molly. I clench my fists without realizing it. Fucker. Unclench them and pull on some pants and a shirt. The phone keeps ringing. Shit. Where is Molly?

Opening the door and listening in the hallway to the phone, the stupid dog outside barking I can’t hear Molly anywhere. I open her bedroom door and she is lumpy under her covers probably ignoring the phone, me and everything.

“Mol. Mol-dolly. Get up, okay?” I say and close her door, walk down the stairs hand trailing along the bannister to steady myself, reach the bottom step into the kitchen and put my hand on the phone. Its vibrating. Taking a deep breath, I pick it up, “Hello.”

“Will you accept a collect call from..” and I hang up. Fucker. I take the phone off the hook.

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