anxiety, family

Document Type



The door was unlocked, as usual. Judy turned the knob and shook clumps of snow from her boots onto the frayed welcome mat. Inside, the picture of Jesus she had painted five years ago gazed placidly at her from the end of the hallway above pictures of Mom, Dad, little Jess (appearing deceptively normal), and herself as a senior in high school festooned with fake white feathers around bare shoulders. Jesus drew her to him, eye to eye. She approached him and stared at the amateurly done, black-dotted, blue circles. Those eyes. Their strangeness embarrassed and mesmerized her.