There was a knock on the door. The door was open, but she knocked anyway. I didn’t know it then, but she wasn’t allowed to enter the room. “Hey.” she said. “Did you just get here?” This seemed to me a pointless question – we both knew I had just gotten there.
Category: Creative Nonfiction
Rig
When the phone rings on Sunday night I know it’ll be him. I answer chirpily, like I always do. And like always we talk about where the rig is right now, what the weather is like with him, what the weather is like here, little nuggets of nothing.
