Three hits, one cat, no reply

The misfire to Ranjit is the thing I keep circling. I had Heena's paralegal's card in my hand at the studio, then I didn't, then I did, then I sent the draft to a man whose family I am trying to countersue. Meera beta, I had no idea landed in the thread in nine minutes and I have not replied. I read it six times tonight. I do not know what he means. I do not know if he is a man who did not know, or a man who wants to be told he did not know. Both feel dangerous. I put the phone face-down on the sheet and did not reply and that is the hardest sentence I have written today.

The hip is three for three now. Patil, the courier, and a man whose face I did not catch because I was on the stairs with a tote bag and a folder of complaints. The railing is the same railing. The bruise is overlapping bruise. I stood in the kitchen tonight pressing the spot and counting — that is the kind of math I am learning to do. Where on my body has been touched by someone I did not invite.

The cat landed on the counter and took my pen. I laughed. I have not laughed in six days. Heena said oh that's Gajju, he migrated, I didn't tell you and I almost cried instead because something moved toward me that no one had asked to move toward me. He was warm and uninterested in my whole situation.

I wrote back to the unknown address. One line. My hands did not shake. I am proud of that for now; tomorrow I will probably think it was stupid.