“Juncture” by Bari Lynn Hein

You hold out your hand and I take it, squeeze it, tell myself that everything will be OK. You help me to my feet, pick up my sunglasses and water bottle off the asphalt. I watch your eyes widen with shock and then narrow with concern, though you speak in a tone that’s calm and reassuring. As we make our way home, I keep stopping to sit on the sidewalk, afraid I might pass out.