Janice Gary | Longreads | April 2018 | 20 minutes (5,587 words)
The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap …
— Ted Hughes, “Wind”
We had been in Key West only five hours when the shit hit the fan. Six fans. One in the kitchen, two in the living room, one in the bedroom, and the two in the dining room where my dog lay on a red oriental rug panting incessantly, his sleek black-and-white body trembling from head to tail.
I squatted next to Winston and pressed my hand against his chest. His heart beat erratically. “What happened?” I asked my husband.
He ignored the question. “Where the hell were you? I called. I texted.”
“I turned off the phone,” I said. “I’m sick. I didn’t want you to wake me.”
“Well you’re awake now.”
I was awake alright…
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