by Nicole Bailey Kelly Sikkema I want to be young, and I want you to be well again. Leaning forward in your chair with your hands clasped tightly. I see the white of your knuckles. The way you would put your index fingers together and bring them to your mouth. You had a serious face. Down to business, asking me what’s next. What will I do next? After the funeral mass, they invited everyone to your home. We drove by, but I could not go in. I could not stand in your hallway

by Nicole M. Bailey Yuky Y Our alarm clock was always set to the beeping noise, but the night before my finger slipped while setting it. Instead we woke to a radio DJ’s voice hollow in its shock. The voice was saying something about the World Trade Center and a plane. It was a dream. I bit the inside of my cheek, testing the level of reality. My cheek bled. That’s when Bill sat up ramrod straight and said, “We need to get to the TV.” I brushed the hair from my eyes and a forc