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What would you do if you came home to see another man  with your wife and child sitting on the couch watching television?

Your wife curled up against him smiling Coca-Cola ad style as she cuddles.

The child nearby comfortable as a corn dog.

Your hand pauses in flight and stares coldly at the doorknob while you gaze in place.

The telephone wires faintly crack and pop–have they always made that noise?

The sun starts to set behind the smog dressed in hues of peach, pink, lavender and lemon.

Street signs read the same names they read this morning when you left for work and the way it always has for the last few decades you’ve lived there.

 

 

The mat under your feet reads “Welcome.” And yet you feel an ominous opposite.

Ding ding ding
ding ding dah dah ding
ding ding dah ding dah ding ding

Ice cream truck somewhere a block or two away.

The things you carry under your arms fill up with cement.

Oxygen leaves the earth.

Nasa men in formation carrying pieces for a vessel that took five million men to pay for.

Two children–boy and girl–playing in the grass in a thunderstorm. Both falling and tumbling over each other and laughing on the ground.

Mold spreading in the abandoned home three streets from your home.

 

You want to reach for the keys in your pocket. Your briefcase wants to bolt and leave you behind.

Don’t run away from the door. Walk.

Slowly.

Don’t look at your  reflection on your car window as you approach it. Look away. Look at the street.

Get in.

Start the engine.

 

Now…slowly…very slowly, step on the gas.

∞