Thank you for the wonderful course, DominiQue. I was sick yesterday and struggling today, so am using something I did in a free workshop (that unfortunately didn’t really get workshopped last year). May come back to this with new writing, however, and doing what I can to show up.
There are two stories or maybe more. They’re wired to a switch I can’t finger.
A man smashes his girlfriend’s head against the apartment wall next door. I imagine her brains splattered on the plaster. You are dead. It’s Saturday. You killed yourself the day before, and I am phoneless, haunting your apartment.
The thumping gets louder, your brother tells me to ignore it via Facetime. I ignore him and knock on the door and tell the animal to get the fuck off her.
You are dead or not dead. I want to say Jan killed herself. Stop it. Fuck off. You’re crazy.
You have not yet killed yourself but are missing. I knock on the door and say stop it. Please call the police. Jan is missing. I need help.
I knock on the door and say I’m calling the police, but my phone has no service. Verizon fuck up. I fake it.
It is Friday. You are missing but not dead. You are drinking in a bar, upset. This is what your family told me. You are drinking in a bar and then come home, and I assure you I’ll hire a lawyer, that you won’t lose custody. Things will be okay.
It’s Saturday, and your body was found Friday. Police wouldn’t let me see you. Neither would your family. There is thumping on the wall. The neighbor runs in the apartment. He beats her up. Then her boyfriend.
It’s Friday or Saturday and you are dead or almost dead and people are fighting and your neighbor is about to be dead. I tell him to get the fuck off her.
It’s Saturday and we’re headed to New York. I found you a lawyer. “You’ll get the kids back, darling,” I promise.