The Meadow 149 curling the corners of my heart. She says nothing. I walk on, down the hall to my bedroom, renovated by my mother. The contents of my private containers, sprawled open, searched, dumped across the bed, vulnerable to the prying eyes of my father. The pink case of protective pills, gone. My father, closed behind the privacy of the master bathroom. Slowly, I enter. I sit on the lid of the toilet. My father blank, eyes downcast, shame shadowing his unshaven face, blue eyes, gray with grief. He mumbles through quivering lips, What have you done to me? I rise and leave him, seated, atop the hamper, weight bearing down. Dirty laundry sealed from view.
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