The Road Monologue

I speed walk for over ninety minutes. When I return, I linger in the street. The scent of night blooming jasmine is glorious. I close my eyes and inhale. Despite the cello playing in my ears, a car horn startles me. My eyes open, and I step aside to allow a black Porsche to pull into the driveway across the street. A man wearing a baseball cap exits the car. I watch his willowy body disappear into the house. This time I catch his face. He’s appealing in a Harrison Ford sort of way.
My mother tosses and turns during the night. I hear her going to the bathroom and later making noise in the kitchen. I’ve confiscated her sleeping pills, so hot milk will have to suffice. No surprise, she’s in an irritated mood when I go downstairs in the morning. Her left side is sore from sleeping on it all

For the remainder of the day, I recall the pages I read, creepy and lyrical. And can’t stop thinking about the irate female who discarded them like trash. I leave the house for my evening walk, but first text Doug. “Miss you, counting the days till Saturday.” And add that I’ve contacted my mom’s doctor which I hadn’t. I hate people who lie, yet I’ve have told Doug two in two seconds.
The solitude and darkness of the night have become my refuge. It’s not even morning and I dread another monotonous day with my mom. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone her. Her neediness is pathetic and sad.. She’s lost without my dad. They have to get back together. I’ll phone him tomorrow and arrange for us all to have lunch. The minute my mom sees him, her anger will go and forgiveness will follow. It has to go down that way.
When I get back, a post-it is attached to the front door. “Thank you for your kindhearted gesture - Graydon.” I snatch the note and read it again.. Afterwards, I glance over my shoulder across the street. Like me, my night owl writer, watches from behind the curtain – how