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sit on the yellow/brown swirled
carpet. Wait. Listen, as beyond
the far door, conversation
becomes animated. Not loud,
not really, so if they’re arguing,
it isn’t with much conviction.
It takes quite a while before
the door opens and Trey
gestures for me to come on
inside. Once again, I get an urge
to turn and run. But I don’t.
The room is neat, except for
a collage of empty bottles—wine,
beer, gin, Coke, and mineral water.
It’s enough to make my mouth
start to water. I could use
a gulp or two of liquid courage.
I look at Maureen. “Hello.”
She stares back curiously.
Are you crazy? The question
is so matter-of-fact, it catches
me completely off guard.
“Wha-what do you mean?” Panic
attacks? OCD? She doesn’t
know about those things, right?
Or is she just talking genetics?
SHE SITS QUIETLY
For a couple of seconds. Finally
says, Why do you want to stir up
a mess of trouble for yourself?
