I try to get up again, but I can’t. I flop on to my chest. I close my eyes as tight as I can. I should call for help. I should yell out to the person in my room.

But I’m too scared. Who is it, and why are they here? I don’t think they’re here to help me. If they were, wouldn’t they have noticed me by now? I’m trying not to make any noise that could attract attention. I start to drag myself out of the kitchen into the hall. I need to get away from whoever is in my room.

I hear the creaking of a door opening, my bedroom door, and then a soft footstep. A high heel, it sounds like. And then another step, coming toward me.

I don’t look back. I continue crawling until I’m in between the kitchen and living room. I want to keep going, to crawl my way to safety, but I can’t. The pain is too severe. I’m exhausted. I lie on my chest and close my eyes.

When I open my eyes, I see the hazy outline of a man hovering over me. There’s daylight in the room. I know him. My landlord, Mike. Unshaven, in a white T-shirt, like always. Was it him in my room? When was that? He’s leaning over me, speaking, but his words sound muffled and far away.

“Penny… Hey, Penny? You hear me?”

He puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Goddammit, Penny. Don’t do this to me.”

I open my eyes wider and try to roll onto my side.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good. You’re okay. Come on. Let’s get you up.”

Part Two

I’m buckled in to Mike’s foul-smelling car, trying not to move or touch anything. We’re snaking our way in and out of several lanes of traffic, starting, stopping. The lurching motion is making me queasy. There are what look like grease stains on the edge of my seat. The snow from my boots has melted onto the floor mat.

I look out at the busy street, the city where I’ve always lived, my whole life. I bring a hand to my forehead and touch the scab from my fall. It’s still tender.

I’ve been in my apartment for decades, and it only took a matter of days to get rid of me. Days. Mike said most of my stuff was put in storage. He wanted me to stay in bed the whole time, resting after the fall, so he could sort through my things and load it all more efficiently. He hired movers to help. In between troubled sleeps, I could hear it all happening, but I was powerless to stop it. Garbage bags and boxes being filled, talking, laughing, tape being cut, vacuuming, dishes being stacked.

At one point, two strangers came in to look at the wound on my head. One of them said it looked better and removed the bandage.

The few things deemed essential were packed up this morning. I haven’t had a bath since my fall.