“Lately, too much disturbed, you stay trailing in me.” – Joanna Klink, “Apology”
You never said you were sorry about the socks I found in the dryer. I had kicked you out after you told me about the affair with Karen Stendahl at work, after you told me it wasn’t a big deal, and that anyway she went back to her old boyfriend. I told you to take your stuff and find somewhere else to stay or I’d take it all to the dump. You put most of it in your buddy’s van and even then you were still making out like it was my fault. But you left your socks in the dryer, your witching skulls-head socks with the glittery-thread eyes. Witching socks. The ones you told me you wore to ace your law school exams, that you wear to ask your parents for more money, that that give you the best trails when you go skiing.
After I found them the strange things started. The five-am yearnings for your warm skin, the eleven-thirty at night cravings for your kiss on my neck. The imagined ring of your cell phone call at three in the afternoon, even though my cell phone screen is blank.
Next week I’m bringing in a witch doctor.