Thursday, September 18, 1997
Dear Nova,
All I can seem to do lately is pace, tracing a small figure eight along the uneven, creaky floorboards in my room. When I go on like this for long enough, I see a shadow flicker in the stripe of light under my bedroom door, and I know Zisa has come to check on me. Sometimes she’ll softly ask if I’d like some tea, but mostly I just see the uncommitted movement of her feet, and I wonder if she has her ear against the door. We both stand motionless as we wait and listen for each other’s footfall, and eventually, the light becomes solid again, and I’ll know she’s walked away. Once it gets late enough, the white stripe finally turns black as she flicks off the living room light and goes to bed.
After I last wrote, I can’t tell you how relieved I felt t
