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I half expected not to wake up the next day. I had left my bags sitting by the door ready for me to pick up and load into the car. If she found those bags she may try to stop me from leaving. I wasn’t a great writer, but I could totally see this being a twisted Misery or something. Please don’t make me eat my thumb!

I made every effort to move silently through the house, tiptoeing around strewn assortment of greasy fast food trash, ash, crumbs, and dirty laundry. I glided into the kitchen, straining my peripherals in a botched attempt at nonchalantness. I heated up a dirty pan and cracked two eggs in it, no sense in cleaning it, I needed to eat and get on the road, it was already 6:30. I scanned the living room from the kitchen, deliberately this time. All of my things were still in place, she had moved slightly, the blanket was over her head. Her arm dangled out of the side of the blanket, a sliver of sunlight cut through the curtains and danced on her delicate skin, reminding me of that amber color I loved so much.

I scarfed down my food and loaded my bags into the car. Everywhere was still tinted a haunting blue twilight color, the last hidden perspective of a world hidden in shadows, before the day exposed their true colors. The air was stale, as it always was here, I was happy to be leaving.

I made one final sweep to ensure I had gotten everything, I grabbed the loaf of bread and peanut butter, this would do for cheap food until I got to Oregon, but something stopped me. I emptied half of the bread onto the counter, and quickly globbed half the remaining peanut butter into a bowl and left it for her on the counter. I threw the rest of my food into the passenger seat, the twilight had gone now, and the sunlight began to expose everything.

Why the fuck am I stalling? Do I feel guilty?

I went back inside and made her a peanut butter sandwich. I stood over here, silently observing, she hadn’t moved sense breakfast. I wondered if I should wake her, would she even be able to get up? I wondered if I was being vein, thinking that she may want to say goodbye. What I was doing was cowardly, it would be much easier to leave while she’s out.

“Hey!” No movement.

“I made you a sandwich.” I propped it securely in her hand. When I let go the sandwich shifted but stayed wedged in her hand.

“I’m leaving. Going to Oregon. It was nice to meet you, thanks for the blowies, free food, and drug hook-ups… It was fun.” This is like a painful eulogy.

“Alright… later.” I shut the door and began to drive west, leaving her in the past just like I had so many others.

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