Maybe it’s unpatriotic, but Donna really, really, really hates the fourth of July.
Some years, it’s Josh who has trouble, Josh who sits next to her on the couch, flinching almost imperceptibly, his leg bouncing a million miles an hour, fist clenched on his knee, before she snuggles into his side, weaves her fingers through his, does her best to ground him in the here and now.
Other years it’s her turn, her turn to freeze and forget how to breathe when the street is rocked with bangs, when red flares flash through the drapes; her turn for Josh to move between her and the window, to hold her face between his hands, to remind her to inhale again, to remember that after all of it, she’s still here, and so is he.
A Reason to Get Out of the City
Some years, it’s Josh who has trouble, Josh who sits next to her on the couch, flinching almost imperceptibly, his leg bouncing a million miles an hour, fist clenched on his knee, before she snuggles into his side, weaves her fingers through his, does her best to ground him in the here and now.
Other years it’s her turn, her turn to freeze and forget how to breathe when the street is rocked with bangs, when red flares flash through the drapes; her turn for Josh to move between her and the window, to hold her face between his hands, to remind her to inhale again, to remember that after all of it, she’s still here, and so is he.