July 15, 2023 - “You brought a flask of whiskey so we could drink beneath the freezing moon”

There were fire engine red shutters on the windows of the house next door.
They’d glow in the warmth of the yellow lights above the house’s garage.
We knew Charlie Floyd lived there with his three daughters: 10, 12 and 17.
We didn’t know Shelia Floyd. We didn’t know why she was never there.
Your aunt said something happened to Shelia and it was Shelia’s own fault.
Your aunt said Shelia had been sent away but sometimes they’d let her out.
For Christmas and things like that, maybe her birthday in late September.
I remember we were up on our roof one night last December. The Floyd girls
were outside and hitting a ball against the house’s garage beneath those shutters.
It made this sound that was at once loud but also soft and soothing, one heavy
thud after another. Again and again. You brought a flask of whiskey up so we could
drink beneath the freezing moon. Then Shelia’s car pulled into the driveway.
She cut the headlights but kept the engine running. We could hear her screaming.
She was telling the girls to get in, get in the fuckin’ car —- get in, now. They did.
She put the headlights back on and slammed the gas, reversing —- it didn’t matter.
Then Charlie Floyd came running outside and screaming too. He was in his robe.
It was crazy. You passed me the flask again. I took a long sip and passed it back to you.