21
When I burst through the outer church doors, the sun has vanished behind clouds, and it’s begun to rain. I walk home barefoot, carrying my heels, wet and miserable, ignoring the constant buzzing of my cell phone in my handbag and the much louder buzzing inside my head.
Theo’s note was referring to my text about closed doors. The bible quote has nothing to do with Cass, and neither does the hymn. Or the sermon. Or the seventeenth of May. They’re all coincidences.
Sure they are. And I’m Elvis Presley.
Shut up.
You shut up!
I take it as evidence of my mental deterioration that my nagging inner voice now has split personalities that are arguing with each other. Magical thinking has dug its tentacles into my brain. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s all bullshit, that Dr. Sing
