We drive home quick.

Hurry dinner in

so it stays nice

and hot.

I pull out two plates

to set the table.

We sit down to eat.

Outside

the evening sky

is filled with

pink clouds

lined with purple and

gold.

Bats swoop chasing

mosquitoes.

It seems the

air trembles with

color while the sun

goes down.

I watch

an early evening dragonfly

swish through

the air.

A country band sings in

the background

and at the table

I sing harmony with

Momma.

Momma has herself one big

range.

She can sing tenor to high soprano

and never miss a note.

There we are

just us two,

singing eating enjoying

each other’s company,

when the phone rings

and

I almost

don’t answer.

I love singing with Momma,

love the colors

in the sky,

love this hamburger.

Go get that,

Momma says,

cutting into her

potato.

At the last

moment

I run to grab

the phone.

A man asks for Momma by name.

Another customer,

I whisper to her,

gesturing.

Momma jumps to her feet

her face going

funny.

What?

she shouts.

Then she runs

hard

pushing me away,

not quite knocking me

to the ground.

What?

she shouts again,

then puts the phone to

her ear

to listen.

What do you mean?

she says,

and I can see

that steak sitting

in her mouth.

My heart pounds

so hard I feel it in

my face.

The french fries

smell like

grease.

My hands sweat.

I glance

away

away.

Outside

the dragonfly

swings

through

the air.

And there goes

a bat.

My eyeballs strain

at my head,

like they want to get

free,

like they have

seen something

I cannot understand.

Was it an accident?

Momma says,

then she yells so

that I have to

cover my ears.

And

I

yell

too.

I’m coming,

she says.

She

doesn’t even hang up

the phone, just drops it

like it’s too hot to hold.

It hits the ground with a

pop!

What is it?

I say

and my voice

is loud too.

Stay with Mari,

Momma says,

running toward the door,

grabbing the car keys

as she goes.

Why?

I say.

It’s Liz,

Momma says,

from the front door.

Out behind my mother

the sky has lost all the pink.

It’s gone a green sea

color, readying for dark.

She tried it again,

Momma says.

Momma’s out the door

into the evening

and I follow

looking for that

dragon-

fly

but

it

is

g

o

n

e

.

59.

Again?

Again?

60.

For a moment

I am sure that I will

die

too,

standing there holding that

Whopper

waiting on Momma to say

something,

anything.

I cannot breathe.

Not at all.

Not one bit of

air

goes into my lungs.

She alive?

I say,

using up the last

of the oxygen

there was in me.

For now,

Momma says.

She slams

the car door

shut.

Then I watch her

drive

away,

wondering how she knew

what that call

would be.

61.

Can I spend the night?