November 11. Saturday morning. Colder than hell, in the single digits. Brrrrrrr. A day that would go down in history in my life as something entirely different, the ultimate change, surreal. Surprisingly, I wasn’t in the kitchen. Rather, I was tucked in the living room, sitting inside the sofa’s plush corner, my legs under a blanket, reading an ex-library copy of Grant Ginder’s The People We Hate at the Wedding, enjoying the read and my time alone. Silent except for the pre-winter’s wind outside. I snuggled there among cotton, flipping through the pages, the pages, the pages with heedless emotions. Then the doorbell interrupted me.
I placed Ginder’s book on the nearby coffee table, removed the blanket, and stood, rolling my eyes. Feeling remorse because of my loss, no longer trapped in th
