I remind you of my generational trauma as you carry another box to the moving truck, but you don’t respond. “The weather guy says we’ll have record-high temps today,” I continue. You pause in the open doorway, sweat dripping on your tanned brow as you glance back at me for the last time. You begin to say something but then shake your head and allow the door to close behind you. Sitting alone, I notice the steady hum of the refrigerator, the hiss of a pedestal fan. The slaps of children’s flip-flops chasing an ice cream truck across blistering pavement.
You can find Ashley McCurry’s fiction/creative nonfiction in numerous literary journals, most recently appearing or forthcoming in Sky Island Journal, FlashFlood, and Switch. Twitter: @amacwriting