The hand first

The hand was on my shoulder before I saw him. Hard. Hard enough to spin me half around in Imani's hallway. I was facing the mirror when his palm hit and then I was facing him. He did not say hello. He said the envelope was for me, then he shoved it into my chest. Not handed. Shoved, like he was posting a letter through a slot he did not respect.

I let Imani watch me walk into her bathroom. I lifted my shirt and held the phone up to the shoulder where the red mark was blooming across the strap line. I took the photo like evidence. I have never photographed my own body like evidence before. That is new, and I do not like that I did it that calmly.

Marcus left. Imani apologized. Marcus did not. I stood in her hallway and I ranked them. Imani above Marcus, always. I also ranked myself under the door when he walked through it, because I did not move. I did not say no. I stood there and took the envelope like the post office had come for me.

Camille asked why on the platform. I said because I am carrying something that was hers first. I do not know yet if that is true. The train was loud enough to let me pretend the sentence got lost.

It did not. Sloane has been carrying my bag. Now I am tracking her down for what was inside the box. That is the swap. She gets lighter and I get heavier.

I hid the envelope in a shoe box with boot trees. The note sits on top. I am not opening it again. I am opening it again tomorrow.