I woke up to some sudden noises coming from within the apartment. The guy I was seeing and I were living together in a one bedroom apartment that functioned more like a studio, as the walls separating the bedroom did not go all the way to the ceiling. The sounds were loud. I jumped out of bed, heart racing and head groggy, and rushed to see what was happening.
The coffee table was turned on its side and an emerald green mug lay broken on the floor.
Guy was red and tense and already sorry.
He’d learned just a few days ago that his brother had been attacked and killed.
His grief was huge and it had not enough space in our tiny apartment. It was like a bomb exploding again and again, causing damage in whatever direction it was haphazardly aimed.
I found knuckle-shaped dents in the side of the refrigerator.
I found empty liquor bottles hidden in strange places.
I could hear his sobs, muffled or wailing, in the night.