When the ball rolls off the table it hits the floor. When he falls off the wagon, he hits the floor. I wanted to be his floor. I wanted to catch the dropped ball. The floor I became. A solid floor, concrete. Did you know that floors get dumped on, scuffed, dirty, scum-encrusted? I didn’t think of that. Now me-the-floor has hit the floor. Rock bottom. In need of a mop. The whole world above me, including him. He’s back on the wagon. I’m under the bed, in the closet. Carpeted over. Redecorate the world, and pick me up, please?
