THE NEXT MORNING


The morning after I kick my cellphone out of the bedroom, I wake slowly. Pale, yellow light filters through the curtain. I feel strange. I feel rested. I look at the clock, and it is 7:15am. I have slept eight and a half hours straight – more than I have slept in months. More than I have slept in years, in fact.


I race to the next room, over to my phone, and there she is, lying on the table where I left her. I pick her up, and I check her, and I check her, and I check her.