“Charlie, help me!”
I can. I do.
I grab her arm as the cliff edge crumbles. We clatter over
the edge. I snag a branch with my free hand.
And now we dangle over the gorge, plummeting rocks kicking up
puffs of Wile E. Coyote dust on the desert pavement below. Not an uncommon sight
in Roswell Junction with its flash floods and crumbling strata. Just an
uncommon venue to watch from.
No, Hari, I’ll never let you go. I have your wrist. It’s tiny.
Tiny as a pine bough and I can wrap my fingers all way around both. My hands
are strong. Strong from labor, desperation, love, and fucking refusal to bend
or break. I can hold you here forever.
Charlie!
So don’t worry. Help will be here soon or I will make the help out of sheer will. My strength is unending.
But my palms are sweaty…
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