Twitter tenderfoot and local poetess @PrettyInkstain threw in, “@EVictoriaF #throwme ‘trying not to be seen.'” which works well with my favorite alien abductee and former nice lady @crredwards, “@PennyJars Prompts: Interruption. Apathy. Schadenfreude.”
Of course he was trying not to be seen, a shadow behind a curtain doesn’t publish itself. It flutters in obscurity flattening against walls. There will be an excuse should you see him, he’s left something behind, something tantamount to privacy.
If you are twelve and a girl, you’re growing a shape, ripening out, sequestering yourself between adolescent tides bashing along a changing coastline. You’re always something.
When your glasses are off, life can only be interpreted. Nothing sounds right this way.
You shower, soaping, rinsing, waking for school. Today the bus is out, you’ll have a ride. You’ve been babysitting over night, filling in a parental gap that sometimes forms when work schedules don’t connect quite right. Sometimes, you’re paid to sleep. A shadow. You swear you saw a shadow. You freeze. Take stock. Move the curtain.
It was nothing. You locked the door.
You think about school. You’ll be there early. It’s winter and they make you wait outside. You wonder where your sister’s hair dryer is. You hate frozen hair. It’s too late not to wash it, it’s already wet. You use a lot of gel in 1987.
You throw your head back, let the water tease your eyes closed. You could sleep standing right here. Shampoo. Rinse. Somebody watching over the curtain.
“Uh, I forgot my razor,” he says jerking his head down. “I’ll go so you can be alone.”
You say nothing. The water is going cold.