there is a window. hanging from the window are thick, expensive blinds. the blinds are covered in dust that acts like glitter against the first rays of sunlight. the clock strives six times. there is no movement, no sound from within. outside, a deer runs across the street and a stray cat licks itself on the sidewalk. inside, there are warm bodies in beds beneath thick, expensive quilts and heavy eyelids. there is coffee dripping in the pot. there is a light that flickers from above the oven, and a sound that sounds something like paws against vinyl. a dog curls up beside the sink; there is a warm vent. the coffee is still dripping. it is the loudest sound in the room.

the clock strives seven times. a shadow bleeds through the kitchen doorway. it is a woman and she is wearing a thick, expensive robe and slippers and her hair has not been brushed. it springs from her small scalp in untamed copper coils. her eyes are tired and her nails are bitten and she kicks the dog aside as she rinses a cup that’s been sitting in the sink overnight. she pours herself a cup of coffee. she looks out the window, into the yard, and i cannot begin to wonder what she is thinking of.

the clock strikes eight. there are more shadows, like spilled black watercolor against the sage green floor. there are two children. one is a boy, a tall boy, with mousy hair and mousy eyes and very long limbs. there is a girl with a single pigtail wearing an oversized men’s tee shirt. they are opening the fridge, the cabinets, searching, almost urgently. the cabinets and the curtains and the window trimmings were a dusty rose. a swan-shaped wooden sign that reads “mama’s kitchen” hangs above the oven. there are several notes on the fridge; the notepad is baby blue. there is a note about dropping Stacy off at soccer practice. there is a note about Garrett’s ballet recital. there is a doctor’s appointment reminder for garret. it is on April 3rd, 2027.

there is cereal poured into bowls; generic cinnamon toasters from market basket. Stacy asks if there are any tiny pies left. she pours herself coffee. she asks “where is dad?”

mother says nothing, because she is rinsing her hands in the sink again. she had been peeling an orange for Garrett. then, she finally says “he should be home shortly.”

the girl is quiet. then, she says “people are living here, just so he knows.”