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      Toothpaste was spread all over the mirror and stuck between cracks in the tile floor. Towels were shoved under doors and newspapers were taped to windows; she told me areas that were not ‘opaque’ were where ‘they’ could ‘see’ her. She’d also pulled the telephone loose from the wall. It sat-- strangely mute and displaced--at her feet. “They wouldn’t stop calling,” she said quietly. I wondered if ‘they’ had been trying to call her to wish her a happy birthday, too.

 		                        
                             
                                   
                             
                 
Aimee Lynne-Hirschowitz is an artist and writer. She holds an MFA in Visual Studies from the Art Institute of Boston and lives with her son Max.