Tuesday, June 10, 2014

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

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