He knocks on my door late. He’s going to crash on his way through town so of course my door is always open.

I find myself listening to him tell the girls stories I’d long forgotten and trying not to cringe. He advises my daughters of the best make out places in town and shows them his knife that looks like a credit card. ( Why??)

The hours melt together until he leaves.

I’m his secret keeper and his place to crash. His personality is infectious but I worry about him. I tend to mother people I love.

“Put a sweater on, have you eaten anything?”

He doesn’t need my care and concern. He just needs me to be that stable place he comes for solace.

After 25 years, it’s really good to know we still share this connection.


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