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‘I don’t want to go,’ I tell my mother.
My throat is tight. My hands shake.
‘What you want isn’t always the same as what you need.’
It could be Nanna G talking. Or Janice. In my head, their voices become one.
I sit by Buster’s bed a moment, stroking his big head. His eyelids raise, then droop.
God, to be him for a day. To not have to leave my bed.
‘The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back,’ my mother says. ‘It’s time.’
I inhale deeply, in through my nose, out through my mouth. The way I’ve been taught.
‘Okay.’
I put on my shoes, check Buster has clean water, enter ‘Battlemouth Prison’ into Google Maps.
My fingers are trembling, I have to type the words twice before I hit the right keys. When I swallow nothing passes the obstruction in my throat.
As I start the engine, I can’t help wondering if he’ll look the same. Those laughing green eyes, that wavy blonde hair.
Stupid, I know.
Just like going to see him.
