Friday, March 4, 2011

"I could work at the drive-in."

"It's high-school kids at the drive-in."

"They have a help-wanted sign."

"Don't you want to spend the time with Mom?"

I take that as a jab, a guilt-cicle stabbing into this spring day.

I start to explain about the anxiety--about Mom. I don't want to get into my doubts about my life. She's my sister, but that's still too fragile. She knows me too well.

"Misha, you're going to leave, anyway."

I'm trapped.

"I don't know."

No comments:

Post a Comment