Headlights

Lights off. Warmth under the blankets. I hear the roar of a car muffled through plaster walls. A box of light dances around my room. The light disappears as the roar fades away. A minute later, it appears again. My cat watches this fairy fly around but is uninterested because it is too big to catch.

I hear the roar again, but it stops short. There are no headlights. I sit up and look out the window. A man who could fit a twin in his clothes with him stands at the street corner. He needs a haircut and a shower. And a friend. He crosses the street and approaches the window of the dark car stopped in the road. The window rolls down, then up again, and the car drives away. The man starts to walk under the streetlights, his shadow spinning like a clock.

I tell my parents what I saw. Soon, a detective comes to our front door. He smells like coffee and calm. He asks me some questions. The next few days, I see him sitting in our driveway in a silver car, because the penguin one would give him away. He waves at me as I get off the bus.

I’m lying in my bed. Headlights fly around my room. There is no longer a sad man on the street corner. The detective told me that he is done living in a basement. The detective told me that he is getting help.