When You're Alone

Hours later, I was exhausted from driving around and decided to make my way back to the apartment. I first scouted out the complex for any flashing lights before parking in a discreet lot towards the back.

Nothing about either of the incidences was covered by the local news. To temper the pain in my hands I popped several Advil tablets in my mouth. Since the accident I had become resistant to most pain relievers, so I felt nothing. What would Karen have thought about me if she had been here? Would she be understanding? Or would she have been terrified?

For the rest of the week I laid low hoping to avoid attention. I kept the blinds shut and constantly made sure the doors were locked, checking it over and over like someone with an obsessive compulsive disorder. In reality, I didn’t have anything to do. Television had somehow worsened and I never was much of a reader. Still, I needed something to entertain myself. On account of the pain in my hands, I couldn’t work out. Having a dog would have provided some comfort, but Karen had been allergic. Even if I were to get one, there was no room for one in the apartment.

At two-thirty I waited anxiously in my car outside the mailboxes for some interesting correspondence. The mailman was fifteen minutes late, but when he arrived he showed no signs of urgency. My impatience swelled with each minute he wasted. Finally, he had finished, and I unlocked the tiny door and grabbed the pile of envelopes inside. Bills. Junk mail. A magazine Karen had ordered before she was gone. I was about done when I flipped over a plain envelope. It was from the DMV. I needed new tags. At last something to do.

By noon I was in line, having forgotten to grab lunch. I was the only one with a silly grin on his face. In front of me a girl, not yet school age, whined to her mother and it reminded me of my sister when she was younger. Behind me I could smell a waft of perfume and the feminine fragrance was comforting, especially since Karen had been gone.

Someone placed a hand on my shoulders. “Excuse me. Is this the line for renewing tags” a woman about my own age asked. I assured her it was.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)