33
Adam became aware of lying on the floor, of aching pains in his limbs where they’d struck his chair and the table. He couldn’t see—at least, nothing he could make sense of—but his mind was filled with waves of light of different colors, dominated by a washed-out red background with punctuating lines and shapes of fierce indigo.
“Sweet Jesus.” That was Uncle Teddy.
Then Adam was being lifted, hands at his shoulders and calves. The motion was awkward and swaying. His boots and then a shin banged against something before the blood rushed to his lowered head. Going down porch steps. The quality of the light in his mind changed once he was outside. He tried to say something, but he had no words, no way to speak them. He just wanted to tell them, It’s okay. You can leave me here. I’m done.
