What Remains True

by Janis Thomas

I’m on the couch, wearing my yoga pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, rolling a joint. On particularly difficult days, this is how I decompress. With marijuana.

Her gait is halting, as though her knees aren’t fully cooperating, and my heart goes out to her. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t jog or swim in the ocean or get down on the floor with my kids. I know Ruth feels less than because of it. She shouldn’t, but she does. I want to say something, to ask if she’s okay, but sometimes she reacts to my sympathy as though I’m the one making her feel less than.