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AcceptanceShe was sitting on my bed. She smiled, her teeth faint against a velveteen tongue. “You’re home,” she said. I sank weakly into a chair, my briefcase sliding out of my hand like a leather fish. “You’re here,” I replied. It was four o’clock, almost dark already. The steely light pushed shadows like bionic legs up my walls, stiff marching. Traffic noise blurred beyond the windows into the rain. “There’s a letter waiting.” She offered it to me, an envelope growing blue with wetness. I got up slowly. She always made me feel so heavy, perhaps because her movements seemed so gAcceptance
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