Little Boy Lost

by J.D. Trafford

I heard about abusive boyfriends, drug use, working two jobs, evictions, intermittent homelessness, and couch-crashing. It was the harshness of living on the edge.

‘Don’t want to go, but always nice to be asked to the dance.’

Things were going well, but it was now getting too complicated, and when it got complicated, things inevitably fell apart for me. Depression is like that.

The security guard took a final deep breath, staring at Judge Bryce with a mixture of respect and resentment familiar to any enlisted grunt that ever had to deal with a commanding officer, then slightly bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

We are, whether by nature or nurture, episodic. We find a problem and then we fix it. We want there to be a beginning and an end.