When I am 17 my best friend and I
are driving down a rural highway
and nothing can reach us on the radio
all around us are fields and trees and static
even the rare house looks empty
though someone must live there
and she says
this is like the setting of a horror movie
this is the kind of place people get murdered
We wait for something to cut through the static
We wait for the music to play again
When I am 27
and the anxiety comes back so fast and
so heavy that all I can do
is stare at the wall or
lay on the bed or
pace the room
and the man I love tries to take my hands
tries to stroke my back
tries to coax me into the land of the living
But doesn’t he know?
Can’t he hear the static?
Doesn’t he realize that nothing can
reach me here?
Grace Carlson is a writer from Washington. She writes fiction, creative nonfiction, and the occasional poem. She also writes articles on travel, mental health, writing, and books. Sometimes she’s funny, or at least that’s what her mom says. Follow her on Instagram @gracieawriter.