Page 139 of Molt

My memories have settled too.

The others aren’t gone.

Not completely.

Sometimes I remember London streets I’ve never walked. A cigarette between fingers that aren’t mine. A song August sang badly in a room that no longer exists. I remember loving him in ways I never actually lived. I remember hating him too. I don’t know if those memories will ever disappear.

Maybe they shouldn’t.

Eleanor existed. Anna existed. June existed. All of them did.

I refuse to bury them twice.

So I write their names down. Every one I remember. I don’t call them past lives. They’re women.

That’s enough.

Tonight, rain taps against my new windows.

Of course it fucking rains.

I stand in the kitchen waiting for water to boil when something catches my attention outside.

A man across the street.

He’s standing beneath the awning of a closed store.

Watching me.

My stomach drops.

No.

He’s too far away for me to see his face clearly.

Tall. Dark coat.

Hands in his pockets.

I turn off the kitchen light.

He doesn’t move.

My pulse pounds.

Don’t be stupid. People stand outside. People look at windows.

August is dead.

I watched him die. I watched what remained of him turn to dust.

I grip the edge of the counter.

The man steps into the street.

A car passes between us.

For one second, he’s gone. Then he appears beneath the streetlight. Gray hair. Black coat.