I imagined caution tape surrounding the house. "Police line, do not cross. Caution: do not enter." The trees fallen, dividing the house. Beneath a tree lay a man, cold as ice.1
My father.2
Tears began to fall. I had a thought of calling my neighbor. I didn't want to be alone. But at 2 AM, he wouldn't understand. I imagined myself trying to sleep on his couch, finding myself awake. I would be going into his room every five minutes asking some question or another, disturbing his sleep and possibly waking his mother.3
I didn't want to be alone. But I couldn't be with my family. I wouldn't think that I could be with any family which had a father after mine had gone. My imagination was too wild for my own liking. 4
But sleep would not come.
