I’m dreaming that I’m standing at my classroom door, jiggling the key in the lock, but it won’t open. I pull it out, check the key to see that it’s not bent and that none of the teeth have been broken off. I insert it again and twist, but it holds fast. A sharp rap on the door, and I bolt upright. Another sharp rap. I grab for my phone on the end table next to the futon. Three AM. My first thought is Kiki. Heart pounding, I flip on the lamp and open the door without even checking the peephole. Robert is standing there, his eyes slightly swollen and downcast, his hands stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie. And all I can think to say is, “You shouldn’t be here.” He swallows hard and seems to grapple for something to say. Finally, he settles on, “Can I come in?” By way of answer, I step out onto the porch. He hesitates, then takes a step back, and I pull the door closed behind me. I couldn’t have hurt him more if I’d slammed the door in his face and called security.
