Mom. Not Jocelyn. Third night: I called you. Blocked. I called Mom. No answer. I called Jocelyn. Voicemail. Three contacts. Three silences.
At eleven p.m. I called my friend Rachel. Her mother drove thirty-two minutes to a library parking lot to get your daughter. She found me shaking with purple lips and white fingertips. She’s a nurse. She recognized continue reading …
