14. The Second Worst Month of My Life
Ben
The calendar on my bedroom wall read October 28th. It was a Sunday afternoon. The trees outside my window were losing their leaves, breaking out in a brilliant rash of oranges, reds, and browns. I remember thinking, right after we moved in, that those trees looked so close, so clear, that I could reach out and touch them if I wanted to.
I couldn’t see them now. My window was gone; in its place hung a semi-clear tarp and the duct tape that held it in the gaping maw where glass used to be. Jagged, glittering shards littered the floor. Mom was on the phone downstairs talking to one of the town’s few window-repair places. She’d already called the police, and they said they’d send someone down to take a report, but I knew that their efforts would be
