Moving forward, just not sure where we're going, but at least we're having a swell time when we do it.
He sat inside the closet. His knees were pulled to his chest, hugging them tightly. Every night his mother would find him here and have to drag him out for dinner and then usher him to bed. But while she was working in the kitchen, she let him be.
He had been going in the closet every day for the past month. Ever since the night his dad was admitted to the hospital. In the morning they would go visit him. But the man lying in the bed looked nothing like his father. He could barely lift his arm. When he spoke it was soft, just a whisper. All of that was troubling but the most troubling part was how he smelled, like plastic and soap. His dad never smelled like that before.
Once they got home from the hospital they ate lunch. After lunch his mom insisted he go out to play, but instead he crawled up the stairs and went to his father’s closet. Some times he took a nap. But mostly he just sat and cried. But he hated it when he cried because he couldn’t smell his dad when he did. The smell of the soap he used with a hint of his aftershave.