The Ghost

Ever since my bed shook violently ( first thought: dog; second thought: ghost - a ghost! A real live ghost!
It's really happening
) I've been waiting for another.
The back of my neck turns red when I am stressed. The insides churn and muscles twist. My eyes feel sour. I'm only floating, then, as a last resort to survive. Holding on to something floating.

So I sit and wait for the room to shake. For the water to reach over like a fathers hand, peering into my windows, splashing and gnawing at my nest, pulling my hair like worms from my head. Sanitizing (death cleans the surface, shines the china).

It's almost like the time the rusty red truck slammed into my passenger side. I didn't see it coming and the next minute my little blue was facing the sunset and the huge crash echoed over and over in my head. For weeks a bomb dropped next to me, my eyes winced, my neck braced. The smell of gasoline, the faces, all the same looking at me from behind the glass reflecting the big blue.

The Boyfriend

Oh my goodness, ohmygosh. I have just pulled the blankets and sheets out of the dryer. They are so warm and filling. My arms reach around and squeeze. This bundle is my true love. Their warmth presses against my body, against my face. I hold on tightly and spin around until they are nothing but cold blankets and sheets in my arms that fall to the floor.

It is a like a drug.

In the morning I fluff my comforter and wrap my arms around it.
"Good morning. I am glad you are here."

"Oh! I am so glad you are here!" he said. He kissed my face.

Diving headfirst into bed, pulling the blanket up and around, face under. It's dark underneath. The sheets are still cold. I roll into a ball and wait for the warmth to take over.

The winters in Missouri were so cold then. Ice formed on the inside of my windows. The blankets were so heavy, layers weighing down at night so that you couldn't move, not even a bone. The pulse slowed, then.