2015

I had licked the leather seats and spat at the chauffeur.

Been furious every time he swerved south. Cried when elderly people in coats crossed the street. They were innocent.

And I was guilty.

Now they were leading me down a steep set of stairs. Through a door. Out a masquerade ball. Into a secret. Down an angst ridden hallway. Past a curious closet with good values. Into a dream. Finally, over a threshold, and into a room with a boiler. It was hot.

They took off the hood on my head. They had put it there to keep me from figuring out the route they had taken to get me there. My destination. But I knew.

It was at that masquerade ball I met you.

Because we had masks on, we never really got to know each other. 35 years of marriage helped somewhat. But we never really got to know each other.

The secret? It was mine. And it was about to kill me. The angst was merely an echo. A mirror...