March 26, 2010
I dreamt a few moments ago that I was asleep on his couch when he got home.
He dropped his keys on a brown plastic tray right by my head and emptied the change from his pockets. I kept my eyes shut, and he didn’t see me, or acted like he didn’t. Later, friends came, and one girl sat in the corner with her back to us, crying in front of the television, as if she had discovered a secret place in a room full of people. She had lost someone, but she would not tell us who, even though we all knew. She pretended to sleep too.
I arose, and he barely looked at me. I spilled hot, red wax on the carpet from a candle that had gone out, and mixed in shards of a broken vase, like I had cut open the floor, and it bled.
I said, “I’m sorry I spilled the wax.”
He finally spoke: “You can spill anything in this house.”