The Demons at the Door
The phone rang: one old pale orange phone with a curled orange cord that hung on the light blue wall.
A heavyset woman with a short-shaved haircut picked up. She looked like my mother’s long ago roommate, the heavy-boned woman who taught me how to shower; the one I’d once tried to forget. The one that reminded me of plums—how they can be split open with bare hands and the insides all sucked out.
“Stew, it’s for you!” The stranger hollered across the lobby. Her eyes scanned the room like a mother surveying the clutter on a table. She hadn’t wanted to truly look, but she did nonetheless. “Anybody seen Stew?” She scanned again while yawning, and then spoke. “Can’t find him. Try again later.”
The rest of this story can be found in the book Everyday Aspergers
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Song to go with found here.