calling in sick

December 22nd, 2004

“Leprosy? Have you called in with Leprosy?”

When your head fits so perfectly in the crook of someone else’s shoulder, you’ll grasp at any straw, too. I’m inventing illnesses now, just to keep him stroking my hair.

“You go ahead and call in for me.”
“And tell them you’ve been kidnapped?”
“He’ll say, ‘Again??’”

A few minutes later, he’s in uniform and heading out my door. He kisses me, takes a few steps toward the elevator. I look down to step back inside, and suddenly, there are his black boots at my feet. He kisses me again, then leaves — this time in earnest.

I’m beyond tired and there’s a permanent cough lodged in my chest, but I’m smiling. I go inside and pick up my cell phone to order Thai. We never did get around to dinner.

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