In the winter after the wolf came, I met Rosie for the first time, the way you meet yourself in the mirror after years of never really looking.

Some wildness now within me, I shrugged off all that which had brought me to it's uncovering as now useless and in many ways made no decisions for myself.  I stopped talking, and stopped deciding, and stopped caring, now working to preserve something inside which having been born, must be let to grow, or having been threatened, must learn to live.  Anything that could happen to me was allowed by a silent hand in my pocket, clutching mine. 



It's...it's not going to be okay.  Nothing is.

....I know.

In the steam of the shower I left on for warmth, buried deep in the basement with two pearl-handled revolvers like some saloon beauty queen, I wrote shapes on the glass with my finger.

Oh.  Oh, I thought I was by myself.

Red handprints marked the door like I had been murdered many times, at the monthly interval of dyeing my hair red.  Are you there?

I'm always here.

I broke the cabinet.

No, that was me.

No, that was me.

No, that was me.

No, that was me. 

You're my best...friend...

He wants to come back.  I should tell him no.  I should tell him yes.  I should tell him no.  I should tell him yes.

Lemme put it to you this way, baby.  Is it gonna make a lot of fucking difference?

Green pencil after green pencil marked hours on the clock that I was attempting to salvage myself.  I wrote in green the lyrics of every song I knew, in the steady squares of each graph of paper. 

What happens when you can't tell the difference between your heart when he leaves and your heart when he stays?

The last two thirds of Sixteen Stone.

He came and we fucked in the total darkness, and I waited until after he came to tell him to leave again because he wasn't even thinking of me and if he'd do that to her, he'd do that to me again and why promise it anyway?

Was the water running?

I can't remember.



Where are you?

I don't know. 

I don't know.  I'm in a room.  I'm a ghost in your room.  Are we ghosts?  Are you a ghost?

You never asked me my name.

I'm not supposed to know it, or even care.  You aren't supposed to know mine.  We don't...hang.

My mom unplugged the phone.  It went dead halfway through Ride the Lightning.  I played it for him, into his answering machine.  Did the world end?  Did we go to war?

Did you know there's porn in here?  In the crawlspace.  An Anna Nicole Smith calendar and an old Hustler. 


Is he gone?

Yeah.  Light the candle.

What's left if they take everything?

I don't know.  Are you alone?

Yes.  No.  Yes.  No.  Did you go to school today?

Yes.  No.  Yes.  No.  I can't wake up.

I can't fall asleep.  Evie?


Where are you?

I don't know.  There's a room, and I'm a ghost in your room.  Am I a ghost?  Did I pull the trigger?

I don't know.  I'd hear it, I think. 

You're not real, did you know that?

Neither are you.  I'm tired.  I can't stay awake.

I am too.  Will you be here, when I wake up?

I don't know. 

He came back.  He says he wants to marry me.  He says that all the time, it's like proof for him that he's doing the right thing.  Making me honest somehow, for how I betrayed him. 

When he's touching me I can see...the universe....

When he's touching me, I look at the universe because it's the only place left to look. Rosie?

What is it?

Are we going to die?

Yeah, probably.

Adam came, to my basement, his eyes unfocused and confused. 

"I dream about you."

"I dream about you."

"I think I need to get you out of here."

"You can't take me anywhere."

"I know you only when...I know you."

"So maybe I'm the dream."

He left after a few days, too soon, and his eyes desperately looking for the purpose in the drama he now understood to be unfolding.