Page 45 of In Sheets of Rain

“I’m not you. I don’t fixate on the jobs.”

“I don’t fixate either.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I can’t stop my mind from dreaming about them, that’s all. It’s subconscious,” I told him.

“File it,” he said.

“File what?”

“Each job. At the end of the shift, I take the bad jobs I’ve attended and place them inside a file box in my mind. I close the drawer and lock it. I never open the drawer again. File it.”

“I can’t file it, Sean. That’s not how I work.”

He stood up from the couch and stretched. “It’s just a suggestion, Kylee,” he said, moving towards the hallway. “But if you can’t do the job, maybe you should start looking for something else.”

I wanted to tell him; I loved the job.

I wanted to tell him; I was good at it.

I wanted him to make the dreams stop.

I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Crash Bandicoot’s theme song came out of the speakers, making it easier to breathe.

I didn’t think about decapitations or gunshots.

I didn’t think about a medical director trying to offer help and feeling unable to take it.

I just played on my PlayStation and forgot about life.

And breathed.

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