The tulip still here

It is late. The tulip from Nostrand is bent over the rim of the glass. I have not thrown it out. The kitchen smells like old coffee. The chipped mug is warm in my hand. The warning folder is open beside me. The words look small on the page but my stomach knows they are big. I keep reading them. They do not get smaller. Marcus said yes. Ines said yes. Henry said yes. Vivian said yes. Eight on the team. Five days to the shoot. The place is locked. The page is on the wall behind me. I have not turned around to look. I do not need to. I know where every line is. Cynthia's invite for July 13 is sitting there. Unopened. I do not know who I am in that room. I think that is why it has not been opened. The real fear sits quiet under all of this. I wonder if they only want the face. Not the taste. Not me. Good night.