Published in minor literature[s], 12/22/15.
This is what happened that one night the first summer we were together. We were in the bedroom with the door shut and lights off. Then there was this banging sound as if someone was trying to wrench open the back door. It was hard to make out exactly. She elbowed me—hard—in the ribs.
“Check it out,” she said.
“You know,” I said, “it’s him.”
“You’re the man,” she said.
I said, “He didn’t want to kill you.”
(Read the full essay at minor literature[s].)
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Mark Roy Long 