Norwegian Arms - "Wolf Like a Stray Dog"

Edmund had a horrible habit of writing enigmatic notes, especially before flying. Before a trip out east, he left a note for May, for her thighs and for her forehead, on the table, weighted down by a banana. She got it when it was 10:33, the radio left perpetually on, murmuring:

May, you were sleeping and I thought I wouldn't wake you. I love you endlessly, if that means anything. I have found over the years that nothing really ever goes away. It gets quieter, you can ignore it, but it never disappears completely. It's hopeful, in a way. Everything still has a chance; you will be with me forever. -E

She wrinkled her brow, breaking the banana with her teeth. It could be a note left by someone never to return. Could just be Edmund being dramatic. Mid-chew she realized it had been his laying it out, his suggestion, that had prompted her to eat it in the first place. A binding agent, a banana, thicken you up.

She paused at the trash can, and turned on her slipper to the sliding door. She went into the backyard, green and crisp and an exactly half-sunny day. She wound up and hurled the banana peel as far she could toward the garden. It landed on top of the back fence, hung there for a moment, then slumped into the neighbour's yard.

I could go on, thought May. I do go on.

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