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know you’d like something new. For god’s sake, look in the mirror, you can get<br />
anything you want.”<br />
She tightens the strap of her robe, dumps her coffee in the sink, “You’re<br />
committing suicide. She’d have tripped herself up by now if she didn’t have you.”<br />
I head to the door, heaving my bag further up my shoulder, “I’m making<br />
changes.”<br />
“Oh, really.” She peers into the refrigerator. “What changes this time? Are you<br />
giving up those damn vending machines? You’d do better eating road kill.” She<br />
grabs a pan.<br />
Newly arrogant but not committed, I perk with an idea, “You don’t need to; I’m<br />
going out for breakfast and lunch.”<br />
“Oh really?” The pan collapses onto the burner. She turns, arms crossed,<br />
“I’m going to see Alison to make sure this time.”<br />
“You do that. And I’m also coming home at six tonight.” I boast my dismissal.<br />
Charged with my morning book search, “I may even find my answer by Monday.”<br />
“Oh!” she grabs me at the door and slaps The Pilgrimage into my hands. “My<br />
book club is meeting this weekend. Do one of your one-page summary<br />
matrices.”<br />
I stand dumbfounded. She hollers from down the hall, “It’s one of those ‘find<br />
yourself’ books; right up your ally. Bolt the door. Check twice.” She slams and<br />
locks her bedroom door.<br />
Dawn teases the skyline. The psychic needle drops onto the song to guide<br />
my day. The drums and guitar fuel my march onto Michigan Avenue. Mr. Plant’s<br />
The Rules of Life by Melissa Abbott-Cooke. Contact: Melissa@therulesoflifebook.com 615-669-5643 12
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