Holland
I drove home in a silence that wasn’t silent at all. The heater hummed. My tires whispered across salt-streaked streets. Somewhere two blocks over, a dog made the kind of sharp, repetitive bark that means I see something and I don’t like it. The world went on, unspooked. My body didn’t get the memo.
It turns out there’s a before and after to watching a man turn into a wolf in a parking lot and plant himself between you and the past. I didn’t know that was a door you walk through and don’t walk back.
I double-parked crooked in front of my building before forcing myself to re-park straight like that could keep the rest of me from coming apart. Second-floor walk-up, stubborn heater, salt lamp glow. I unlocked the door, turned the deadbolt twice, slid the chain, and stood there with
