I brought it down into the light
I brought it down into the light, brushing a stray speck of lint from the gold tassel that hung limp over the side. It smelled of plastic packaging and drawer liner, untouched and brand new.
If I stayed in this hallway, the silence of the house would eventually press me into the mattress. I smooth my skirt again, feeling the weight of the decision settle in my shoulders.
I was going to sit in that assembly hall, even if every eye in Oakhaven turned to look at the woman who had no business being there.
The blue paper was safe in my brass-latched purse now, tucked deep beside my house keys.
I held the black cap against my ribs, the stiff polyester pressing against my skin. It felt like a shield, or perhaps a weight that would keep me from floating away.
I looked at the hallway mirror, the glass slightly silvered with age. My face looked thin, the lines around my eyes deeper than they had been in the spring.
Author
Andrew Collins
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