[For Grant]

It's already sunset by the time I'm up at the Compound in the khaki shorts and the blouse Joe found, all ruffles and blue satin and white polka-dots that make me feel like I'm stuck in someone's poor fashion parade. I'm due for a movie in an hour or two, but I still want to drop in on Grant with the food I've picked up from the kitchen and the books I'd brought (Alice in Wonderland, Emma, and War and Peace).

Of course, that we're nearing seventy-two hours and I'm still the way I am frightens the crap out of me, but worrying won't do anything, I guess. Riding it out is the best method and having Grant here and having him remember will help that. Better than talking about feelings with Skinny, at least.

I round the corner for the clinic, holding up the plate of food on top of the pile of books. "Got a delivery for you," I say, one half of my mouth tipping up in a smile. "Hope you like jell-o."

(no subject)

The sun is setting in the sky by the time my fear has diminished enough to drive me from the comfort of my boat to come back 'home', to this erstwhile place that holds my belongings. I came to the boat and found Liebgott's briefs, there, just lying there as a reminder of what we had done. They sit folded, now, in a drawer of memento and commemoration, to be forgotten with what we did.

I hitch my bag up over my shoulder and my fingers clasp my notebook tighter than before and find the way through a familiar path to the sound of my boots crunching against gravel. I'm myself again and have been for over forty-eight hours, but guilt and loss have haunted every step.

I miss having someone in my bed. I miss the consistency and constancy of a presence there to provide warmth.

By the time I unlock the door to my room and get my bag down, I have drifted in past the miasma of...of chocolate chip cookies and I nabbed them from the breakfast counter and brought it back with me, nibbling on the edge when I see that my room is not devoid of life entirely and for a moment, I think that it took them two days to forget I exist.

Then, I see better. This story is supposed to be over, I tell myself. The conclusion had been written when I woke up without anything of value Liebgott might want. Yet, there he is in my bed, under my covers, asleep for all the world. And here I am, gaping. "...Liebgott?" I manage, awash with shock and confusion.