I follow the directions and move through the blocks, then take a few lefts and a right down a dirt road. An old man waits next to a mailbox, his eyes watery and blue.

“You look a little fancy to be all out here,” he says, gesturing at my dress. His denim jacket is worn, dust on his boots. He is not new.

“I have other clothes.”

“Got a feeling this isn’t for you, out here.”

“Why?”

“Smaller than the city.”

“Just let me take a look.”

He gives me a hard squint.

I FOLLOW HIM DOWN THE PATH TO THE small cabin. The cabin is painted red, the color of old blood. Inside, the walls are freshly painted. The cabin offers: A small bedroom, bathroom, cramped living room with wide widows, a kitchen with a small stove and a small silver sink.

Through the windows, I can see a lake glistening in the distance.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

This sentence is followed by a series of transactions.

BACK IN THE CITY, I LIVE A HALF-GONE life for weeks.

“I’d like to resign,” I tell the boss. His face is rutted with wrinkles by now. Where have the years gone?

“Resign? What for? The company needs you.”

I picture the company as a child: A series of cubicles with eyes and a mouth which is pressed against my breast, latching.

“I’m moving away.”

“You had a strong future,” he says. Anger rises in his face.

“My last day will be in two weeks,” I say gently.

“Ungrateful, always were,” he whispers. “You have betrayed us.”

EVENINGS AND WEEKENDS, I FILL THE open mouths of empty brown boxes with my life. Clothing, bedding, small statues and rocks, a single photo of my brother, the remaining soaps and shampoos from the bathroom. The objects of my life take on more weight when combined.

Soon, there is only my mattress on the floor with a lamp beside it. I sleep there unmoored. Each night, I dream of knots: Squares, lariats, double bows, rolling hitches, surgeons.

◆The clove hitch is the weakest of all common knots

◆To loosen a tight knot, one must rub it against a rock or soak it in water

◆The Mystic Knot is a combination of six infinity knots and a symbol of long life full of good fortune

◆Whenever a piece of rope is knotted, it is weakened

EVENTUALLY, THERE IS ONLY THE bareness of my apartment, virtually scrubbed of me, more sense of ghost.

ON MY LAST DAY, I SIT IN THE LUNCH-room, spooning green soup into my mouth.

Brenda sits across from me, sliding bland crackers into her mouth.

“We dropped another bomb today,” she says through the crumbs.

The sound makes me murderous, rage in my blood.

“You know, they deserve what they get,” she says.