Ian Swenson .com

Hours pass. Even a day. Nathan lies on his bed staring at the furrow on the taupe wall. His friend, Earl, pokes his head through the crack which the slightly ajar door has allowed.

“How’s it hangin’?” Earl’s goofy smile betrays his true concern. Nathan cannot help but laugh at Earl’s greeting. His laughter spirals upward unnaturally, gyrating to climax in short time. Earl peers quizzically at his young friend. Realization of the unintentional mistake made in his greeting presently sets in. He joins in Nathan’s mirth with considerable effort.

Earl breaks laughter’s stalemate by announcing he has brought some of Nathan’s own clothes from his townhouse. Nathan patiently listens as Earl’s chatter turns to coworkers, his wife, and his baby on the way. As he listens, his eyes again haze and wander to the crease in the wall, an anaconda snaking its way from floor to ceiling.

“When they going to let you out of here?” Earl interrupts his chatter with substance.

“Don’t know. The doctor says he’s not going to let me out until he’s sure.” Not that he ever sees me.

“I’m sorry that you had to come here. I was just trying to make sure you were okay. You really scared me . . . and your family.” Nathan notices Earl’s pause in the short list of people he scared. Who were you going to say, Earl? Her?

“It’s okay, Earl. It’s not everyday I get to ride in the back of a police car. They don’t give you any leg room, but at least the seats are leather.”

Earl smiles and makes a quick excuse allowing him to take his leave of the place. Nathan resumes his spot on the bed and continues his stares.