Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Twenty-Four
The perfect kind of fall morning: cool air coming through the windows, the quiet, the slow return of the light.
Laundry instead of morning pages.
I check my work phone and see no text message. I will wait.
Let’s reword this and soften the edges.
Today, all of the construction noise feels extra loud. So loud, I keep putting my hands to my ears.
Rain clouds.
Every time I walk up the stairs, I look through the glass doors into his dark office.
Finally, a text comes through. I walk down the stairs to deliver the message. He clearly doesn’t understand what I am saying. No sympathy, no compassion. I feel my anger rising. Why do I need to keep repeating myself? Figure it out.
Six girls. Two more than last week. Six more than a year ago.
They lost by three points. “It’s okay. They will beat them in the tournament when they get to high school,” I say.
