he felt fine. He even laughed softly to himself. At last he said:

"Go away. I'm all right. Just taking a bath."

"Son, I think we ought to have a serious talk," Dr. Friend said.

"Tomorrow," Floyd called. "I'll come to your office tomorrow, Doctor."

And pretty soon they went downstairs again. In a minute, he heard the doctor's car drive off. Later he heard the twang of the backdoor screen: his mother going to the A & P. He got out of the tub and dried himself.

Dressed in clean chinos and a short-sleeved shirt, he pulled out of the closet an old cardboard suitcase and packed it with t-shirts, shorts, socks, laundered shirts, a few ties, his good suit. His best shoes he kept in their store box. He jammed this in and shut the lid.

Sweater and corduroy jacket over his arm, for later, when it got chilly, he picked up the suitcase and walked to the door. He paused and glanced around the room. It was a place he'd been lonely and confused and trapped in for a long time. He wouldn't miss it. He stepped into the brown-papered hall and pulled the door shut behind him.

Lilly Smith would still be at the bank. If he tapped on the door she'd let him in, even though it was after hours. He'd withdraw his savings. He guessed he had enough to get him to Chicago by Greyhound. What else he would do in Chicago he didn't worry about. One thing he was sure of. He would find Mark Morsov.

PROHIBITION

Soft now, soft.

Do not wake her.

Do not penetrate the peace That drifts around her,

Covering her, protecting her. Do not shatter the laughter

That sparkles in her dream

Like a strand of colored glass, Sun-dapple, merry.

And do not,

Oh, do not touch the hand,

The soft white hand,

That moves now, slowly, easily,

With the grace of a doe's waiting, As she sleeps,

Do not wake her.

By Alix Morgan pho

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