The Dying Truck and The Footsteps Around It Top Story - December 2021
Day started with my clenching of this blanket that’s never changed between the time it was laced around her shoulders to when she decided that this couldn’t live anymore. These mornings used to be what I slept for. I’d watch the sun send these fine slots of light over the skin of her back, almost filing it perfectly to make everything less overwhelming. She’d hum “good morning baby” but it was more tired than that, less punctual or articulate- it was more like “mmmgoodmorningbaby.” All one word. The same way that you’d say ‘yes, please” to breakfast as a kid.