Cristina Hawke

I met my circumstantial roommate at the front of the house while I was taking out some trash. “Oh, it’s you!” she said. “I haven’t seen you in a week!” I laughed, “yeah seriously!” and walked through the front yard, then threw my bag in the bin. She was on her way in, and waited for me in the doorway at the top of a few tall concrete steps. I had never seen anybody use that entrance to the house, and was delighted by the surprise that it led to her rooms. I propped my foot against the bottom step and looked up at her. She asked me quickly, “have I been doing anything to bother you? I get up at 5 in the morning to shower.” “No, no,” I said, “I haven’t heard anything.” And then I wondered if what I’d said was true. Of course I’d heard something, but it hadn’t bothered me. I felt a rush of well-being at that amount of truth. I also thought it was sweet of her to ask, and that the kind of person who would ask that question is also the kind of person who wouldn’t be bothering me (much) in...

I saw a centipede in the shower this morning. At first I thought it was a clump of hair, but it quivered and twitched. I thought about leaving it there and showing it up to my meetings with greasy hair. But then where would it go? Would it dry up and climb out to haunt me in my sleep? Would I be able to shower later, realistically? Sherwin's father came downstairs to take care of it for me. He smiled weakly, tissue in hand, as I showed him the way. Bent down and got it as I clasped my hands over my mouth, half-embarrassed and half-thrilled. The way that fear can be thrilling. He stepped back into the kitchen and examined it. “Old house,” he said, smiling. I smiled back and nodded my head in reassurance. “Yes it’s an old house. Thank you so much, it just freaks me out. I really appreciate it.” He was so kind that later I wondered if the centipede had showed up so that I could experience someone helping me. I’d only seen him downstairs once before to mop the floors. He’d turned the c...