Where Have You Gone, Jim?
It was a hot day in August two years ago. I still shudder whenever I feel my own leg, sometimes when I'm cold.
I think he must have checked into the hospital because he was severely ill with septicemia. After the fourth day of no word from police, I break into his apartment by pushing on his screen, hurling myself over the couch.
Nothing prepared me for this. I reach in through the six inch opening of the bathroom door, but cannot push the door in. He is slouched against it. Surreal.
I see his leg; I touch what feels like cement, cold, so very cold.
© Angelina Lenahan