I’ve buried a lot of my laundry in the back yard.
Slowly we switched places, she became more me, I more her. At first we traded articles of clothing, then jewelry: her ring for mine, my watch for hers, then it was barrettes and hair pins. Somehow, in the heat of the day I began to see her as me and whether she saw me as herself, I have no idea as the questions I asked, while answered by her, fell silently around me, accumulating like leaves or snow or volcanic ash. I picked up her – now my – purse and looked inside, reassured by photos of husband and children. I put the money she gave me in a pocket in the purse, tucked beside the paper tissues and chewing gum. She asked if I would come back the following week; I said “no”, that I needed some time with my family. I took a few steps, stopped and turned: there, in the doorway, she looked alone in her disappointment.