Her hands are folded across the back of her neck
headphones cover her ears.
She sits at a table with three other girls
but they don't talk to her
and she shrinks lower in the chair
her already small form shrinking into a ball.

I should walk there
only fifteen feet away
and sit there next to her

We always go our separate ways in this stairwell
They go down
to socialize, to laugh, to eat
I go up
to sit alone
The smiles between the three of us dissolve on that landing
the laughs
everything that has happened in the last hour
gone among the voices of the descending crowd pushing past me

I sit here singing along to Tim Mcgraw
as the hail tries to crack my window open
between thunderclaps
I need you
I need you
Whoever you are
I need you

I scoop up the last armful of clothes from my drawer,
Look at my uncle sitting at my computer
my eyes screaming,"I'm done, that's it"
he nods his head, listening to my aunt on the other end of the phone
and playing with the settings of the security camera dad bought to spy on us.
I carry them into the hallway,
kick grandmas already half open door
drop them on the bed
and sort them out;
a pair of pants,
I lift the shirts from the Mexican midnight takeout box
insert the pants,
put the shirts back down
add another pile of shirts
and fit the socks and underwear along the side.
this is the third box
and it's done.
three boxes, a clothes basket, a backpack and a computer
and I feel like a hoarder, like I have far more than I need.

as I turn around I feel him wrap his arms around my neck
and ease his tear filled eyes onto my shoulder.
"I love you, Bubba"
he says, in a voice deeper than it should be
"I can deal with him,
but living without either of my brothers scares me"
I start crying, I can't hold back the tears
all the pain and suffering of eighteen long years
finally **** near over
and I almost start grabbing clothes and stuffing them back into the drawers.
I almost say
"I can wait six years for a life"
but I look into his eyes
and see that he's telling me not to stay
that his heart will be torn up
but he can make it through
he always has.
twelve years old and the strongest person I know.

we stand there embraced for a quarter hour
crying until we have no more tears
until we have let out all the anger and fear of the last nine years.

we stumble into the dark hallway
eyes red, swollen, and damp.
Nobody asks any questions
and we continue on with our day,
my entire life piled up on the far side of grandma's bed

they approach me during intermission
as I sink into my chair,
a crowd of people I don't know gathered around
nobody speaking to me,
his voice startles and awakens me,
traveling fifteen feet to me, over the din of this crowd,
but not traveling an inch further-
and carrying my name,
which he could only have matched with my face
through a detailed description of the latter
and a memory not common among eighty year old men.

as he approaches I can see him better:
a few inches short than me
with a large *** belly and hair that is thinning, but still present.
His voice is strong, and his eyes are studying
but he wears a hearing aid that look like a blue tooth for an 80s cell phone
and glasses that are larger than the ones i never wear
but smaller than most of the hundred pairs in this room.
His wife stands next to him:
a small woman, filipino
with a soft, almost absent voice and a gentle smile
but eyes that show the extent of her sadness
and the mass of winkles on her forehead and cheeks
make her appear a decade or more older than she is,
that make the three and a half decade age difference between them seem to shrink.

We speak for a minute, we smile and laugh
and then they leave

I'm going to be reading Saturday, first reading in exactly four months. I would like you guys to help me pick what to read: send me your 3 favorite titles (a link or description if untitled). I will read the most poular, if not the two most popular (but not the one about my algebra class or dreams,  if you like a section of either  of those, send me the section number). And if you live close to Port Townsend, Washington and would like to hear me read, it's from 6-7 pm at Pippa's Real Tea, downtown Port Townsend. There are two other scheduled readers, both are pretty amazing, and then a half hour open mic.

We round the corner of that dilapidated building next to the highway
And I see her walking, hobbling, home
carrying a small backpack.
I want to walk over there
and off to walk her the last block
but I don't
and I continue on.
But I look back for a second
when my dad stops to talk to the directory of the funeral home.
She stops, thirty feet past where she had just been
looks at me
and gasps.
I want to ask her why my face shocks her so.
All I've ever been to her
as far as she knows
is a customer in the store for two seconds.
My face is not able to be traced in her memory
as her daughters latest ex,
an occurrence I'm no long bitter about.
I am nothing to her,
even though she had the potential to be a lot to me.
So I stand there
wondering what about me made her gasp.
I wave, smile and continue walking.