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We Will Call Again.

In the refridgerator is the following:

 

Half a jar of peanut butter.

 

A quarter of a gallon of milk.

 

Twelve stale crackers, soft enough that they would not snap but gently surrender.

 

The sharp tang of soiled nappies,

 

A sheaf of letters pinned to the refridgerator, with big red letters at the top of each of them. On the front one is scrawled in clumsy cursive, FUCK YOU.

 

There’s a photo, a woman dazed from giving birth, cradling a pink, frail baby and looking up at everything with unfocused black eyes.

 

A folded card, brought at a copy shop in large packs. WE WILL CALL AGAIN.PLEASE BE IN.  FAIRFAX COUNTY CHILD ADVOCATE.

 

There’s a padlock on the bedroom door.

 

2.

 

In the refridgerator:

 

Nothing.

 

The musk of bad sex and alcohol filtered through sweat.

 

An ashtray filled to the brim,sat on a table scarred with the careless anger of lit cigarettes.

 

A photograph pinned to the refridgerator. A little girl, smiling like she only just learned how to do it, holding up a picture she drew in school that day.

 

A manila folder, swollen from where it had beer spilled on it. NAVARRO VERSUS FAIRFAX COUNTY printed on the cover. The sebum from where a finger has traced it, night after night, hoping to draw some meaning from it has discoloured the material.

 

The padlock is gone. Along with the door.