Tuesday, February 7, 2017
The faintest of sounds, a guitar string being plucked, wakes me from the first round of tossing sleep. Then a voice, a silhouette framed in the doorway, a voice calling. An unwelcome visitor, hunched over, not so benign, calls me. The voice is rough, soft, but not a whisper. He is accusing me of something. I want to deny it, don't know what he is talking about. I am too surprised to be afraid, though this has the ingredients of a nightmare. I rise to confront the intruder. He turns away, muttering something. I realize he is lost, deluded. I want to kick him out, call the cops. He seems to know me, seems to expect something from me that I cannot give him. He has nowhere to go. It's my fault for leaving the door unlocked, for being so negligent, for not caring. I have a long day ahead and need to sleep. He shuffles out the door, only to come back later, this time to the back door, more insistent this time. "Let me in," he says. "Let me in. I'm not going away."