The guitar case lay open, a dollar bill lining the padded case; the guitar was no where near the case. The guitar was as far away from the case as possible; hiding in the attic, not wanting to be played ever again.
I decided to put on a record while I worked. When I stopped working, the record was spinning, but the needle remained still, not a scratch on the record, even though it had been played many times before.
As I walked into the room the perfect stillness of the air took my breathe away. Then the wind chime hanging from the ceiling started singing softly.
My cat talks, he tells me that my husband misses me. The only problem is I never have been married.