As if we were old friends, as if I didn’t see her activate the child lock the second we pulled out of the airport parking lot. She is telling me about her granddaughter’s masterful performance in the role of Velma Kelly in her middle school production of Chicago. I am a hostage in the passenger seat of a white minivan, trapped next to a strange woman with cotton candy hair the color of ginger ale. I can almost feel the warmth of his hand. I imagine him rubbing my back in easy circles, whispering these sweet French lullabies our mother used to sing. I conjure him up in the middle of the night, and he’s sitting next to the bed when I’m dizzy and sick with Eden and booze. I pretend that he’s next to me on our rotted wood balcony before dawn, when my shallow breath rattle is the only sound. The closer I get to the Anniversary, the more I’m trying. But if I’m really still, I can almost hear him. It’s not like I can actually hear his words out loud, or he comes to me in my dreams, or some bullshit like that. I imagine him saying things like that sometimes. Josh-sorry! Joshua-would say I’m being a drama queen. Suspended in a boxy aluminum prison with gray cloth seats and the synthetic stench of piña colada swinging from the rearview. TWENTY-SEVEN days to freedom, and I am caged. Though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.ĭay Thirteen: Wednesday, July 16, 1:25 A.M.ĭay Thirteen: Wednesday, July 16, 2:27 A.M.ĭay Thirteen: Wednesday, July 16, 5:30 A.M.ĭay Thirteen: Wednesday, July 16, 9:45 A.M.ĭay Thirteen: Wednesday, July 16, 9:59 A.M.ĭay Fourteen: Thursday, July 17, 1:57 P.M.ĭay Fourteen: Thursday, July 17, 10:55 P.M.ĭay Seventeen: Sunday, July 20, 9:30 P.M.ĭay Nineteen: Tuesday, July 22, 9:45 P.M.ĭay Twenty: Wednesday, July 23, 3:26 A.M.ĭay Twenty-Three: Saturday, July 26, 7:06 A.M.ĭay Twenty-Eight: The Anniversary: Thursday, July 31, 7:45 A.M. The art of losing’s not too hard to master For all the Stevies-and all the Shrinks who walk beside them.
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