From the thrum of his hospital room my father asks for my elegant friend– Laura with the starlit hair, so I don’t remind him how he’d once picked me up at midnight from the now-suicided Laura’s house in a country that spat on justice, a country we’d left long ago along with Laura and her mother, who, high on heroin that night poked me out of her daughter’s bed with a kitchen knife, said get out get out of my daughter’s life, and Dad remembers not the knife nor the name of his wife and only sometimes the land we left but says how wonderful my girl to have had such a dear friend in this difficult world.
(Combining prompts from Day 1 and Day 2. The title is a line in Pale Blue Dot, from my bookshelf, and the form is a single sentence.)