40. WHISTLING IN THE DARK

2:33 and all’s not well. More strange dreams. Afraid to go back to sleep. Can’t anyway – the snoring from Dad’s room is so loud. He’s never snored like this before, not this heavily. Had it been this bad when Mom was alive, he’d be dead now because she’d surely have killed him. Divorced him. Sent him to sleep on the couch at the very least.
.
And what was that? Is that whistling I hear? The feeling in the pit of my stomach, fear or excitement? Out there in the dark, is it Judy? Am I really hearing it or is it just my imagination? Could it be her, down the end of the hall, waiting for me, just beyond her bedroom door? Part of me says, Of course not.

.

.

Got to go in there sometime. Got to face the music sooner or later. It’s not over until the Fat Lady sings.
.
Nine days to go, but who’s counting? Have to get hold of some condoms. Plenty of time yet, and it shouldn’t be difficult - they’re available in the restrooms of practically every bar or nightclub downtown. Not that either of us has much chance of giving an STD to the other (being virgins and all as we are), but condoms as a method of birth-control? Not ready for miniature versions of myself getting caught up under my feet. Not just yet.
.
Che sera.