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When Chloe Calls

When Chloe calls, I come over. I cross many bridges and stop for many trains. I have travelled this route many times. She calls late at night or early in the morning. She will be crying. She will have been wronged. She will greet me at her door with a hug and a peck to my cheek. Her hair will be wet, always fresh from a shower. At times her hair will be wrapped high in a turban. At times her hair will be a damp snake coiled on her shoulder. She will be wearing pink sweatpants, the word "Pink" stamped in sparkles across her backside. I will follow her to the couch where she will lay her head into my lap. Delusion is not a factor in my process. I sometimes call her for coffee. She will be busy with JonathanJosephKevinEricJamesLeoScottAndyKyleRobert. I will tell her these men cannot hurt her. I will tell her she is strong. The perfume of her hair will rise from my lap. She smells like Venezuela, like rainforest trees when it's raining. I will continue to believe that maybe, possibly, Chloe knows to take a shower when she calls and I come over.

Story by:

Pete Stevens

petestevens111@gmail.com

submitted at 6:08pm

13 January 2012