In the movie, a family of four had escaped the haunted house. They were in a car in the driveway—just about to leave—when the father realized his wife, who had returned to the house, had been gone too long. I sat on a rumpled motel-room bed and watched the movie as my parents packed the last of our items. We were in-between—at a point on the road after one place and before another. This place happened to be somewhere in the desert. I’d had to sleep in the same bed with my brother and in the same room as my parents. I hated it. I hated when my brother’s foot touched my leg. I hated the very nearness of him. I wanted my own space. We were leaving, but soon I would be in a hot car pinned down by a seat belt.

In the movie, the father went back. He climbed the stairs all the way to the top floor. He opened a door to a room. An old lady sat in a chair, rocking. She said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Ben.” Suddenly, there was a scream as the father fell through the window. There would be no escape for that family. There was no real escape for me.

Tamara Hollins

has earned the following degrees: a B.A. in Art, with distinction, from Hendrix College; an M.A. in Cultural Studies from Claremont Graduate University; an M.F.A. in Writing and Literature from Bennington College; and a Ph.D. in English from Claremont Graduate University. She is an Associate Professor of English whose scholarly work, creative writing, and art have been published in journals, anthologies, and encyclopedias. She has participated in Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop and is the author of a chapbook of poems, thinking of you (Aeon Publishing Inc., 2010). Her research interest is the production and the construction of identity in African-American and women’s literature.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Two Poems in Serving House Journal (Issue 12, Spring 2015); includes “The wind shifted, and 19 friends died” and “Absence”