Friday the 43rd
We argued that day, looking for the safe house. There’s no one to ask for directions, I said. It’s not a guy thing. You clicked your teeth, the way I hate, the way you do when you want to piss me off. But the pencil drawn map said 434 Amity Rd. I held it in front of your face, made you look until you believed me.
We didn’t dare circle the block again. Not with the Seekers out there looking for anyone still human. You took your foot off the clutch, let the car die out right there in front of the red door. It sputtered three times–– funny how that’s the thing I remember most of that day.
You grabbed my hand, squeezed it once without looking at me. This is it, you said. I wasn’t sure if you were saying, or asking. It didn’t matter. The number was all we had, that, and each other. Bags in hand, we crossed the street. I let you do the knocking and stepped to the side, just in case.
Truth is, I was scared. Truth is, you were always the strong one.