. . . let love turn blue

. . . Q:

So I just turned right around and walked back out, climbed into the barely emptied car. Opened wide the windows to lose the smell of three days of teenagers cooped up inside. I could hear them calling to each other from their rooms as I backed out. They sounded happy to be home, all unbeknowing. He had probably gone back already to his article revisions.

Which we’d interrupted, coming home. His week of quiet shattered with all our noise and baggage. Maybe he would notice I had gone some time tomorrow.

I drove. Past little houses with lighted windows, fields and white-flowered lawns, thinking what am I doing in this rust-blasted bomb again so soon?  And where in great-granny’s knickers do I think I’m going? . . .


[story: “a fiction: Straight Answers“]


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