June

(Ray Bradbury had an idea for how to get your own education in writing. It’s the 1000-day MFA. I learned about this from Shaunta Grimes. Having launched into this project, the idea is to read a poem, an essay and a short story every night before bed for 1000 days. And during this same period, write a short story every week. This is my Friday story of the week.)

June sits there in the church hoping like hell nobody comes in. It’s the only place I could think of. She doesn’t know why she’s here. I don’t know what I’d tell anyone if they found her. She sniffs out a mirthless little chuckle. Feels so free and outlaw sitting here in this ratty flannel nightgown. It’s a free country, I’m not exposing myself or anything. Who cares. It is a truly blessed feeling being somewhere where nobody would think to look for you, and even if they did, you could just get down on your knees and close your eyes into your praying hands and it would be Not Allowed to bother you.

I hear someone in the parish hall. June sinks deeper into me, hiding in plain sight behind her own face. She tries to drop to her knees and close her eyes but it’s pointless. I can’t think of where to go and even if I could, June would just be a woman wandering around in her slippers in Cody. It would bring all those faces and questions and things June couldn’t answer, and people I knew but didn’t want them to know me, and —