by Sarah Keyes

Created on: July 04, 2007

Justin drives past the cookie cutter houses nestled in the trees. Looking for something, slows down, speeds up, passes Anderson street. He thinks that would be a good place to drop the box. The gurgling from inside of it gets louder then wanes. He struggles not to speed up when the breathing sounds more labored. What the hell am I doing? he thinks. He pulls into a church parking lot and stares hard at the faded yellow clothing collection box. No one is in the parking lot, but still, it's wide open, exposed. He shouldn't do it here.

Back to Anderson. Someday, he tells himself, I'll drive up this road and I'll see him in the yard. It will be true, what I'm telling Joanie and the kids. He has a new home in Wellesley. It's dusk now. Justin thinks about the sound of the spring peepers at his in-laws' house. He pictures Joanie in the water, playing motorboat in the pool with Merrily and Drew. Her eyes growing darker in the twilight, her smile becoming mischievous. Yes, Justin, think about them. Don't think about the ketamine and the xylazine loose on the passenger seat beneath the box. Don't think about that or the hospital or the stinking dog.

He pulls to the side of the road, reaches across the box, pushes open the door, shoves the load onto the edge of the quiet, rural lane. I'll see you again, he thinks. I'll see you in someone's yard. I'll come back to check on you.

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