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My Friend Sue

My friend Sue now lives alone in her abruptly oversized, minimalist home. She approaches it on a serpentine, heat-beaten blacktop road then wearily turns into her arrow-straight, flower-lined driveway.

After a pensive moment of staring blankly at the crimson door of her sky blue home trimmed in brown, she reluctantly unlocks the brushed brass lock and enters her nightly prison. She typically stops and stares, still holding the door open, at once-cluttered rooms. Maybe the divorce wasn’t such a good idea after all? It certainly wasn’t the relief she expected it to be.

The clean, nearly barren room reminded her of what she used to have. The blank walls remanded the dusty outline of familiar photos, ghosts of family portraits. With no children, they’d both focused on their cats. He’d taken them too!

The single blue recliner, half of an identical set of two, was a favorite hangout of hers and the cherished pets. She ate her dinner without tasting it, watched TV without watching it. Besides eating on the recliner, she slept on it, read and wrote on it – though most of her extended reading was done in the bare, porcelain room.

After finishing her quick microwave dinner, she fell asleep knowing that tomorrow would be the same. At least she’d kept her Miata and took comfort in the drive to and from work – especially when she left the highway and chose the most twisted and dangerous roads, as she always did.

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