you walk through the door — you but shorter, your feet still look the same but you are shorter than me. We are discussing your new job at a place I drove by with your last name on it. Your mother is there. 2 young boys run by — they are not my son, one is his friend, one I’ve never seen before — he is bleeding, his head. I take a napkin & hold it there to put pressure on it. I wonder if you think I’m a good mom, “This happened to Noah,” I say. “It’s not a big deal. It just bleeds a lot.”
Blood. Bleeding. You are happy. Yes? You seem happy. She is better for you — what you always wanted it seems, someone to spend time with. I always needed my space. You suffocated me.
Are you happy?
The last words you wrote that I should have answered.