Reverbs

      She opened her eyes, when she heard his car pull away. Echoes of last night’s strikes reverberated in her ribs, arms, and left cheek. She remembered her mother. All these years later, they now bore the same platoon’s wounds. She readied a defensive or retaliatory response—go, get gone, and stay gone. She wondered why it had never struck her mother, as the pangs palpitated with more consistency.
      In their room, she found little worth taking. She ignored pictures, keepsakes and mementos. Take anything you can sell, she thought. That was disappointingly little. A few changes of clothes were essential. Everything else could be replaced.
      The shadow of her father’s memory snuck around the dark corners of her mind, sniping at any hope daring enough to raise its head.
      Her parents had tried to explain or play down the incidents currently swelling her mind. It had never made sense.
      Mom stuck it out, why not me?
      Then it was done. She gave the room a parting glance.
      It’s over, she thought, heading for the door.
      “Mom,” cried a faint voice, as she turned the doorknob, “what’s for breakfast?”
      She clutched the suitcase’s handle, then thought, Soyrizo and Eggs.