the navy coat, the nine, the crack

I keep coming back to the navy coat. Not the thermos, not the pain, not even Robin's voice. The navy coat. He looked at me and saw a category. He looked at Robin and saw a different category. The categories were the whole point. He did not stay to find out my name. He gave an instruction to the woman he assumed was in charge of me and he walked away. I was still bleeding.

Robin said she's my sister like she was correcting a label on a box. Flat. No anger she let him see. She was the only thing between me and the track gap and she is the only reason I am lying in this bed tonight writing this.

The denim jackets. I packed the one I packed. She bought hers in Atlanta. Same color, same weight, same cut. Mama would have called it a sign. We stood in the hotel room and did not say the word.

Nine thousand. I said it at my own counter. I have been carrying that number behind my teeth for months and it came out flat and Robin did not flinch. She did not ask how. She told me she lied to mama and told her I was fine. I am not fine. I have not been fine. Robin's lie is the reason mama did not show up here sooner and I do not know if I am angry about that or grateful. I will decide tomorrow. I will decide next month. I am not deciding tonight.

She did not open the closet door. She saw the edge of the envelope. She did not ask. The case is still mine. The letter is still unsent. The nine is still on the counter.

Yesterday I wrote I was going to let the door be open a crack. The crack became a person. Robin is breathing through the wall and the door is open all the way and I am not closing it.