Stacy W. Julin JUST OUT OF REACH She disliked going into the bathroom to do anything. Avoided brushing her teeth in there, even urinating if possible. I don’t like the man and boy in there, she told me as I helped her dress in her room. They want me to go somewhere, and I don’t know where it is. Their names floated above her just out of reach, like the hummingbirds outside her window. She laughed about the weeds, things she could no longer grasp. Aware the tumor pushed out something new each day from her brain. On my day off, she must have remembered the man and the boy, recognized the place they beckoned her to. When I returned, she had gone with them.
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