Sunday evening convos in our eclectic suburbia

When Matthew died, it really changed how I interacted with those in our neighborhood. Like with the exception of a few, I didn’t actually interact. Like when I saw people I knew “before” I, quite literally, ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, and I also threw away block party invitations, and we turned our lights off for Halloween (not that anyone trick or treats anymore), and, one time, when I saw one of our neighbors, Ed, behind me in the checkout line in the grocery store, I put all of my newly-dyed dark hair over my face (Cousin It style) and silently prayed he didn’t see me. I saw Ed a few more times thereafter, each of which I pretended I didn’t know him. Continue reading

When tables turn

She enters my office and shuts the door. She sits down across from me. It’s a cold, Friday evening in January. It’s after hours, already dark outside. My office is nearly pitch black, as there’s no sunlight coming through the window – no sunlight to make up for my lights being off. Only the light from my two monitors illuminates my face. The light from the hallway transforms her into a shadowy silhouette like from one of those crime shows where they black out the witness to conceal her identity. I abruptly stop what I’m doing. Continue reading