She pushes a box set into my hands. She is insistent. I came for photos, for my family history, I protest. For shreds of my childhood. I don’t own a DVD player. But I take it and place it in a box along with the rest of the scotch you’ll never drink. I don’t know why it’s on my desk. Scotland is too big right now. It looms large somewhere on a horizon I can’t bring myself to look at. You are in limbo, and so is everyone who has ever loved and hated you.
I shouldn’t have gone back yesterday. I had already said goodbye. I suppose it fits – you were the one who taught me to run back to men that had hurt me.
But now I need this to be over. Please.