a short story
I returned to Tennessee for a few days to check on a few things. My wife calls me to say that she is shopping, and someone must’ve dialed for her. I assume her daughter is visiting.
It’s a 13-hour drive from Des Moines to Knoxville. I slept in my truck somewhere outside Memphis, just long enough to avoid falling asleep at the wheel. I’ve left an ICU-room chair that’s been my bed for nearly two months. My wife’s body is attached to many tubes and wires; her blonde hair is equally tangled and messed up like the dry, un-mowed lawn I find at our home. The windows are dark. The life that was is musty and aged.