Past and Minor 

He won’t remember the long dawn out silence that began the stir of panic in the pit of his stomach.

He won’t even remember the sharp, and then dull pain, that shot through his foot when his hand released the grip of his beer and it dropped, like an anvil, directly to his foot, before spilling all over his kitchen floor.

He’ll just remember his entire world, along with his breathing, became twisted in his chest, right underneath his heart, and he couldn’t breathe, think, or speak. His hands caught the edge of the kitchen sink, gripping tight as his body tried to stay steady and upright as something burst, like flames, inside of him, ripping apart his heart and lungs and sole being.

His knuckles turned white as his head ducked violently into the sink and he emptied the contents of his stomach – beer, bread, and chips – along with a harsh rush of tears and he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Not even for Emma, whose voice he could hear coming from the phone that was floating in the mess of alcohol on the floor. He just stood there, shaking, and vomiting, and crying, until his body finally gave out and he collapsed onto the kitchen floor.