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I was trying to figure out what this feeling reminded me of, and I think I know.
My little brother Abram and I use used to wait for the sound of our dad& #39;s truck pulling into the driveway, then we& #39;d go hide in my closet.
We crouched and waited to hear if he& #39;d slam the door, if he& #39;d stomp up the stairs. We wanted to see if he was Good Dad or Bad Dad.
We were like safecrackers, age 9 and 6, listening to the ticks with a stethoscope so we& #39;d know what to expect when we opened my closet door.
Waiting waiting waiting, wondering if the terrible end of the world was outside the door. That& #39;s what this feels like.
Trauma is so extraneous right now. How dull of me.
