My eyes were closed as I sat in my chair. My fingers firmly pressed on the ends of the armrests, scratching them like claws up and down slowly as I tried to calm myself. Charlie, I thought, where is Charlie...

The clock above my refrigerator read 11:02. I had decided 11AM would be when I couldn't take the wait anymore. But I decided to give him a little bit longer. My fingernails dug into the armrests, digging deeper and deeper, stationary. The black spot on the far side of the wall hadn't moved for an hour. So it wasn't a spider after all.

Then what was it?

Maybe someone's been in here. Maybe they put it there.

My eyes went wide involuntarily and my heart immediately began to beat twice as quick.

No, there's no possible way. I've been here the whole time.

I tried to calm my breathing, counting between breaths. 1, 2, 3, breathe. 1, 2, 3, breathe. 1, 2-

But you slept. You slept for a long time. They probably came in when you slept.

I let out a little whimper and my hands sped to the top of my head in a reflex, covering either side of my forehead. My temples.

What does the black spot mean? What could it possibly mean? What is the message?

My whimpers became cries, like a dog in pain. Tears sprang to my eyes.

Maybe it's not a black spot at all. MAYBE IT'S A BULLET HOLE.

My cry became a shriek and I covered my mouth, damning myself, looking around the room with wide eyes, daring not to move.

What if...what if they're still in here? What if...he's still in here?!

I began to hyperventilate, taking a chance to grab the Chantilly lace throw off of the back of my couch right in front of me, daring not to make a sound. Going ever so slowly, I crouched to the floor, beginning to crawl towards my kitchen, looking towards that bullet hole all the time.

When I reached the space between the refrigerator and the wall, a small space where a tall floor cabinet should go but was never placed, I creeped into that spot. I curled up as small as I could muster, and covered myself head to toe with the Chantilly lace.

Through the lace, I could still see out due to its fine threads, but maybe whoever was in here couldn't see me. I tried to make my breathing come as quietly as possible. My body started to heave, trying to get me to sob, but I swallowed it down deep inside of myself.

The sound of a heavy boot on wood made me jump and I cursed myself, staring out from my spot as long as I could without blinking. Wood. Creaky wood panel flooring. The bastard was in my bedroom! I held my breath.

The creak came again, louder this time. Then another. Another. Closer and ever louder. I began to wish I had a weapon, and tears began to leak from my eyes though I resented them. The tears, large drops, shook on my face as I realized my entire body was trembling.

The sound of a large fist on wood jolted me and my hands flew over my mouth as I stifled a scream.

"Mrs. George? Mrs. George? Are you awake? I'm sorry the delivery is late today. I'm sorry it's not Charlie, too. He got wasted, and you know kids, especially my kids, right? Haha! Well anyway. Its me, Avi. I've got your order."

Avi's familiar voice breezed into my apartment from beyond the front door and I started to cry. Bawling, release. Crying like a child.

"...Mrs..." Came Avi's voice, quieter now. More silence. Then his voice came very low, but still audible to me. "Georgina...? Georgina, are you okay? I can hear you." The sounds of my groceries being set on the floor outside of my door came to me, and then he knocked again, but gingerly, not our code of five loud knocks for safety.

"Georgina...are you hurt? Did you sprain your ankle, maybe? Trip? Tell me if I need to call 911," he said gently.

I couldn't say a word, but I wanted to so badly. Instead, ashamed of myself, I began to sob and rock against the wall, hugging my knees to myself and resting my forehead on them. I felt so afraid. But not of the spot anymore. I felt afraid of myself. I was so scared of myself. Because I had just realized that spot was not a bullet hole. It was a nail. An old nail in the wall.

"Georgina, Georgina...Georgina. My Georgina," he said comfortingly. "I'll be back, okay? I'm going to call 911, okay? I'll be back. Please don't move."

I stifled a gasp. My throat opened up as I heard his familiar boots begin to leave, making large clunking sounds.

"N-!" I cried, "NO, AVI, DON'T GO! DON'T GOOO!" My cry turned into a wail as my momentary lapse in crying ceased, and my heaving sobs caught me off guard.

His boots came louder again, making me cry harder.

"Georgina, are you okay?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled. He must have been leaning against the door, trying to hear me maybe.

"No," I called to him, my voice too high. "And yes. No, I don't know!"

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice changing to one of fear himself, getting shaky.

"No," I said as loudly as I could.

"Can you get to the door?" he asked in a relieved sounding sigh.

"Yes," I said, wiping my face of my tears with the Chantilly lace.

"I'd like to come in for a minute, if you don't mind," he said softly.

I just nodded even though he couldn't see as I got up, completely quiet now, deeply silenced from my core. Numb feeling. The numb feeling always came after a panic. I didn't know why. As I walked, I threw the soiled Chantilly lace behind my couch, ashamed of it, too. The numb feeling tingled at the tips of my fingers, the tips of my toes. It made my head feel dizzy.

My hand landed on my door knob and I unlocked it, pulling it. But the door made a protesting sound as the chain lock above bit into the wood. I closed it again, undoing the chain with a clatter. Before I could open the door again, it swung open and I stepped backwards to avoid being hit by it.

My eyes flew wide as the stocky Jewish man beyond the door ran over the threshold at me and caught me in his arms, squeezing me tight. The familiar smell of Old Spice and cigars flooded my nose as he rubbed his cheek against mine dearly, his salt and pepper beard scratching me.

"You scared me so much," he whispered to me, his voice still shaking. "Please don't scare me like that, myyn lyb." He began to breathe hard, his breaths coming in little quick half snorts and with a warm droplet of liquid on my cheek I realized he was crying. I couldn't feel any emotion. "Are you okay? Are you really okay?" He asked, his voice becoming high.

This was the Avi voice I had known thirty years ago. No fake masculinity. Avi.

"Yes, I'm okay. I...I panicked," I whispered.

He parted from me, holding my shoulders comfortingly. "What did you panic about?" he asked gently, his fake deeper voice returning. I wanted to tell him to use the voice he had used with Paulie, but I couldn't ask him that. I knew it hurt him too much.

"Please close the door first," I whispered to him, staring out in the hallway over his shoulder unfalteringly.

"Oh, the door...of course," he sniffed, turning and wiping his eyes with one hand. I think he didn't mean for me to see him wipe his eyes, so I didn't act like I saw. He stepped out of the doorway to retrieve my groceries then closed the door as he came back inside. He immediately made his way to my refrigerator to put them away. My eyes darted from the undone chain lock to the button on my doorknob. Quickly I rushed to them and redid them, prickling feelings stinging my entire front. I found I was breathing hard again, and I began to count. 1, 2, 3, breathe. 1, 2, 3...

"Oh, myyn lyb, you do not have any strawberry milk left? Is that why?" his voice came from the kitchen.

I looked at him. He was looking at me, half crouched in the refrigerator. Silence followed.

I didn't want to tell him that was the reason. Squeezing feelings began to swirl into my core, like tight black clouds. The shame. The damn shame of it.

"Its okay, Georgina. I'm not going to hurt you. I love you. Please tell me. Did you have any strawberry milk today?" he asked slowly, cautiously, straightening up from the refrigerator and touching the little strawberry milk from outside of the grocery bag he held.

Slowly, the tight black clouds rose up my neck, pinching my throat and letting no sound out. They traveled upwards, past my mouth as they forced out my bottom lip and it began to quiver. Quicker they rose, and they were in my eyes.

Avi's expression changed to one of deep sadness as I began to cry. His eyebrows peaked in the middle as he made his way over to me, his mouth slightly parted, holding the bag with the strawberry milk in it. He held my hand and gestured to me with the grocery bag in the other.

"I brought it, it's okay," he said lovingly. "You can drink it now. I won't watch."

I nodded towards the carpet, unable to even look at him. He took my wrist, and I felt the coolness of the pink bottle envelope the inside of my hand.

"I'll be in your bedroom. I'll gather your laundry. I will do it tonight, and Charlie will bring it back in the morning, I promise. I will iron them myself," he told me quietly, pushing back a lock of my blonde hair away from my face in love.

All I could do was nod again, looking up at his face this time. He gave me a kind smile, the kindest smile I know. Without another word, he turned and made his way up the short hallway to my bedroom at the back of my apartment.

Hearing his movements in there, the wood panel floorboards making their familiar creaking sounds, I felt calm enough. I plopped into my red chair, perfectly placed in a spot where I could see everything in my apartment, even him as he passed by my bedroom door.

Carefully, I unscrewed the top of the little pink milk, and undid the filmy layer that kept it fresh. Even more tentatively, I gently poured a bit of it into the deep cap. I closed my eyes, and just barely I was able to see a smiling face.

The face of a young man. No. A boy.

A boy with sparkling blue-green eyes. Hair the color of wheat. Downy pillow-like cheeks that blushed a delicate rosy pink. A smile that made me melt, even after thirty years.

My breath came ragged from the earlier tears. I opened my eyes and threw back the strawberry milk into my throat like a shot.

A shot. That funny face when he had his first shot. That noise he made. It sounded like a blue whale tripping over something.

I put the strawberry milk on my coffee table quicky, and my hands flew over my mouth. My body began jumping. Unfamiliar sounds came from my mouth. Flooding from me. From deep inside.

"...Georgina?" came Avi's high voice from the bedroom, caught off guard.

The sounds just kept coming. I couldn't stop them.

"...Georgina...are you...myyn lyb...are you laughing?" Avi gasped.

I breathed inward a couple of times and began to giggle uncontrollably, rolling in my chair. "Avi...Avi, Avi, Avi, do you remember..." I squeaked between giggles.

"Oh?" Avi asked, now standing in the doorway, a half smile on his face, unsure whether or not to smile most likely.

"Do you...remember...when...Frankie took his first shot of vodka?"

Avi beamed at me. He started laughing, too, his own hand over his mouth in that way I loved so much. "Yes! What was that sound he made? It was..." Then Avi made the sound. And I couldn't handle it. I burst out laughing and wiggled in my chair.

Avi walked out of the bedroom, grinning at me. He kneeled in front of my chair and before I knew it, he was hugging my waist, the side of his face pressed against my stomach. He was smiling. "That's the Georgina I know," he sighed happily. "I'm so glad to see you."

I hiccupped, my hand flying over my mouth. Avi felt it, and started giggling into me. He parted from me, giving me that familiar happy face from so long ago. Something told me he hadn't smiled like this in years. Too many years. He swung around, and picked up my strawberry milk. He held it up to me as an offering.

"Drink, Georgina. Drink," he breathed, looking at me like pure sunshine.

I nodded, taking the pink milk from him. As I rose it to my lips, the only fear I had was missing my mouth due to grinning too hard. The best fear in the world.