Time To Go

Check on your friends

On her wrist, a purple danced in blues and red until it unified into shades of brown and yellow made it shine. I asked where she got it, and I wondered if I too fell from a step, would I have the marks to prove it? Then there was a band of the hues, a piece danced around her throat, but the caked ivory dulled its serenity, and my question went ignored. But I knew from the way she jumped when he returned that she’d fallen into her mother’s footsteps. I was older, braver, and more combative. We stiffened at his charming Qs and contrived genuineness. And when his door clicked, I wrapped my hand around her bare wrist, dug my nails at her resistance, and dragged her to my car. A drop of blood marked freedom, relief flowed that it wasn’t the buckets it might have been.

© J.R. Sonder

In my 9–5 work line, too often, I see people stay because no one is there to help them. If you know it is happening, please help if you can.

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