Filling Emily With Love
Sneaking up on you isn’t easy. You’ve got a sixth sense. You’re a light sleeper, one of those men who “investigate the noise.” I don’t even try to stop you and convince you it was nothing anymore. You’re always “hearing something” but, today, I’m sneaking up on you. It’s taken me, what? Three minutes just to get down the hall? I put my step gingerly at the edges, right up by the wall so that the floorboards wouldn’t squeak. Catlike in movement, if not in reflexes, I’ve crept down the hall to your office and have been peering in at you. Not laughing is the hardest thing. You’re so studious, so into whatever that book is on your desk that you don’t notice me looking in from the open doorway. I shift my right foot …