“Do you need to charge your phone?”
I am debating something and trying to maintain his eye contact without break at the same time.  I had a jar I needed opening. Maybe I can learn to fire a gun. What can I safely say?
“Yes, that would be great. I just have to shut the burners off. I have a gas stove,” I said.
“We’ll wait. You can use our car charger. An iphone?”
“Oh, sure I have a cord,” I sort of sing gliding away.
Hopping over to the stove, leaving the door cracked, not wanting them to enter or witness but know I was coming back, I see Genevive huddled in a corner, afraid.
“Good,” I whisper. “I’m glad you didn’t play friendly cat today.”
I shut the burner off, disappointed as it has come to a full boil and I can quickly make the beans. No, this is better. Appear stalwart. Give him a name. Ask a question only every pause. Be patient. I am hopping back to the door and trying not to rush. I never untie my shoes, I just slip them off and I try, at first, to shove my whole foot in the right shoe. This will fail. I have to pull my sock. I have to temper. Calm down. I’m excited by prospect, any prospect, of information. Relax. I am untying my shoe. Bring the man the jar of applesauce. I am slipping my right foot back in. I can’t because my boyfriend is strong enough. I am feeling the foot hit the cushion. Tell them you don’t know many people here.
“Stop it,” I accidentally hiss out loud.
Untying my left shoe, I am also closely listening to see if they are making any conversation. Not a word passes between them. When I throw the door back open they are in the same exact posture as I left them: stoic, sturdy, waiting.
“K. Ready. Oh the cord. I mean my phone. I have to grab my phone sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Take your time. We have a charger.”
I close the door completely this time. It is much too cold. I am debating something but I walk over and grab the phone off the end table without going back upstairs for the other phone.
“I could say it’s my boyfriends.”
Your boyfriend would have his phone on him.
“Yeah.”
Before I open the door one more time, I practice in my head. My name is Samantha Liss. I have lived here for three years, my friends have been checking on me intermittently and my parents are in perfect health. I work as a software technician and my boyfriend is a carpenter. He built all the shelves in our house. I feel well taken care of by him.
“Ok, perfect,” I sing opening the door wide.

“Hello!?!?!”
This time they yell and knock on the window. I glide over the floor in my mismatched slipper socks, the ones with the padded footing. They are on the wrong way, one inside out and one is falling off the foot a little so it looks like an elf’s slipper but I am going for it. Today I will answer the door. Today I will look someone in the eye. Today I will say exactly what I need. Throwing the door open, I have rehearsed all yesterday,
“Thank God! I am almost out of food.”
It is two police officers and I immediately regret not just my choice of words, but my choice of outfit, location, occupation, history and opening the door.
“Hello officers.”
They are two men, white, with light hair both of them. The one with blue eyes looks me up and down, gauging age no doubt. I appear, I begin guessing, to be about 26 in their eyes; a child worth protecting.
“We are visiting each house to check in on your supplies and to let you know about the enforced curfew going forward.”
“Enforced?’
The shorter one with light brown eyes cuts in. He stares mostly at my mouth.
“We will be patrolling the areas starting at 11 pm to ensure everyone is where they need to be.’
“Where do we need to be?” I smile
Don’t be so coy. I stop myself. Ask them for batteries, potable water. Don’t chirp too much. Don’t invite them in. Don’t show them your beans or ID or any safes hidden in a closet. Do nothing but stand there, polite, remember your southern upbringing. They are busy. There is no need to invite them inside.The short one laughs a little, lowers his head. I did not realize it was drizzling. The air is cool and shocks me. Their caps are brimmed with droplets. I see their breath with each word. I need heat.
“It’s just a precaution, ma’am…”
“Samantha,” I lean forward extending my hand.
“Samantha.”
His hands are ice.
“You can call me Sam.”
I smile with every tooth and nod enthusiastically as he explains that they will have cars patrolling areas like shopping centers and parks and other places of congregation just to keep everyone safe.
“Philly has a lot of streets to work.”
“We aren’t worried about these side streets,” blue eyes says. “We are just letting everyone know and checking in. We have a jug of water and some batteries to offer. Do you need a flashlight?”
“Yes. Do you have anything else?”
“First aid items: band aids, gauze, gloves.”
“I’ll take the care package. Thank you.”
Blue eyes is back to the squad car parked a couple houses down. Brown eyes is fixated on my mouth. I have crossed my ankles to try to hide my socks.
“A lot of these houses are abandoned?”
He waves his hand in the air signaling to the rest of the block. I am debating something and trying to maintain his eye contact without break at the same time.
“Yes… They can’t sell them so a bunch of these houses are empty.”
“Do you have friends around here? Checking in?”
“Of course,” I beam.
I am ingratiating.
“Do you live alone?”
“No, my partner is here. He went to check on his mother.”
He nodded dutifully as his partner strode up.
“Ok, two jugs of water, one flashlight, two packs of batteries and a first aid kit. We’ll try to come by again to check in.”
“Of course, I’m really all set.”
“Didn’t you say you were out of food?”
Brown eyes narrowed.
“Oh,” I turned to look behind me, knowing I need to stop the water or return to it.
“I thought you were my boyfriend. I was playing a joke. You know the hero returns,” I throw my hands up to show them the helpless mistress. “I’m honestly fine.”
They tip their hats at me and I am freezing.
“When will the power be back on?”
“Not long now. It was a short circuit. Should be on in a couple of days.”
“A short circuit? The whole town or…”
Good, pretend, be nice, smile, look like a doe.
“Yeah…”
But I interrupted, “Before my phone went dead, I swear I read it was up and down the coast. Are you going to every neighborhood?”
They looked at me and I looked at them. My cheeks were pallid. I didn’t want to be at this door.
“Yes,” tall blue eyes finally said. “We are going to every neighborhood.”
Doubtful, I nodded and began to shut the door.
“Ma’am.”
“Yes.”
“Do you need to charge your phone?”
I am debating something and trying to maintain his eye contact without break at the same time.

“When they ask you how you are, do not say fearful. Narrow your eyes and kiss your teeth but don’t say afraid.”

–Yrsa Daley Ward, Bone

“I hope that good is good and right is right and fair is fair.”

–yrsa daley ward, Bone

I walk to the kitchen first and take the lighter off the counter. The pot is full of water, the beans have been soaking. I meant to do this yesterday. Genevieve is silent, grown patient in the cold,  or at least I project that. She isn’t begging for food. She remembers when I used to wake up at four pm. Loyal, she would mimic my posture in bed next to me and all day long, for as long as I slept, she slept. Occasionally, she would swat me in the face without claws or lean over me, those big owl eyes staring into my clenched shut face. Sniff my breath for wine. Nuzzle next to me anyway. Today, she is thirteen years old, cold and the tether to Earth that keeps me breathing.
“I have so many beans.”
Ten bags of them actually. They are the thing neglected most in the cupboard. And prominent, the thing that comes in handy when someone who loves cooking enters my house, throws open the cupboards and the first thing they see are dozens of plastic bags full of little colored balls. They say, “oh, split pea, perfect, I’ll make the soup” and you are grateful hiding pizza boxes in the recycling and trying not to ask,
“Well, if it’s a real dinner, we should order dessert.”
Still shivering, I peer underneath the burner. Some of the water will go into our mugs. Clicking the switch of the candle lighter, I carefully move it closer to the center of the burner and I am comforted by the ignition, the sudden whoosh, the blue flame. The water boiling. The sounds of hurricanes in childhood.
“Well at least we have hot water,” my mom chirped through the house.
I loved the power outages, the candles, the way the sky was black and so was everything.  I would stare out the window, at the fallen branches, sometimes whole trees uprooted in my neighbor’s yard and the black. Waiting to go outside and pluck the worms from their emergence, chase the oil slick rainbows on concrete, compare damage on each block. Right before the hurricanes hit, my skin was electric. Right before a southern thunderstorm takes over, the night shades the day. The smell of petrichor, that sex smell, that musk I craved. I would watch streaks of light blaze the clouds like they had it out for them. Like vengeance. Like violence, stretching to show it’s width. I missed the smell of rain but right before this power outage hit, I burst into flames.
“Hello!?!?!”
This time they yell and knock on the window. I glide over the floor in my mismatched slipper socks, the ones with the padded footing. They are on the wrong way, one inside out and one is falling off the foot a little so it looks like an elf’s slipper but I am going for it. Today I will answer the door. Today I will look someone in the eye. Today I will say exactly what I need. Throwing the door open, I have rehearsed all yesterday,
“Thank God! I am almost out of food.”
It is two police officers and I immediately regret not just my choice of words, but my choice of outfit, location, occupation, history and opening the door.
“Hello officers.”
I am shaking like a caught deer.

My eyelids sort of dance on the balls. They are heavy like trunks. I yawn, scribble, remember a piece from an earlier dream. Force them open.
I was cleaning my ear, thought it was my teeth but it was my ear. I remember that. Like a camera panned out to show the true view and it wasn’t your gums you were scraping but your ears, with a q-tip and something sharper, scraping resin. Little pinches of black on pink. I was removing the rotten parts.
I hear cars pull up and I throw the covers off, jump up for motivation and even though I am swaying, rocking gently, surely I will fall, I stand.
“Come on, Genevieve.”
She stretches behind me, arching her back, shaking off sleep. My body is undulating without effort, shuddering like a caught deer. I have been asleep for fourteen hours. Who will I look in the eye and  how? The gravel, the pause, the engine shutting.
“Let’s go get help.”
My body needs stretching, pacing but I am being carried by two loaded trunks with the lid propped open. Let’s see. I waddle down the stairs, gripping the railing for balance as she races before me. I feel like I could sit on the stairs and a waterfall would help me slide the rest of the way. Light, not like a feather but light like nothing at all. Like I’m not even here. It is time to eat.

what I have is worse:
echoes of absence and
impregnable hurts.