Part of me finds Eddie alone in the polluted sea of his king-sized bed. I am permeable. I fill the room. I am the room. I am the world. This is the mantra. This is the prayer. The bedroom responds, the yellow walls mood-ring into other colors, curtains raspberry their tongues, the nightstand and lamp and furniture tilts, lifts, and bows to me, and his bedspread ripples, then swells like a thunderstorm cloud. Eddie stirs and moans but does not wake. I want him to open his eyes, so he can see me as I rush forward as unformed muscle and sinew. I bound onto the bed and onto him.

Lightning discharges within the middle of my chest. The blast of electrical current gnarls my fingers and arcs out excruciatingly from between my shoulder blades. I gasp and sink into the cold, fathomless waters of agony and torment. My left leg spasms against the garage wall and kicks over a shovel. Dying stars alight in my vision. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. No, this is how it is supposed to be.