She sings and I break.
Flood of unwanted memories.
Waves crashing down.
Here it is—the song—those notes—
Hand clenching the armrest.
Fingers white; knuckles clenched; rings bulging off my fingers,
Squeezing, gripping, relying on that armrest to be rooted in the Earth
so that I am not taken away.

He hums and I squirm.
So nonchalant. Casual. Like it’s nothing.
Like it’s just a song.

It’s NOT just a song.