A cat in heat is heard outside the trailer. Over and over the animal moans. A tall woman with gray hair pulled back in a ponytail looks at the drawings on the wall. She runs her finger over the stick figures and mouths, Bobby was here. The cat is still squealing.

The woman plays kick the can in the living room and looks around the place. A broken TV,  cushions and springs exposed on a couch, nothing has changed since she left some time ago. Everything is broken. She crushes the beer can with her heel.

Thelma left Walter and Bobby behind a couple of years ago. She and the old man would argue till early morning every night. She threw plates at him, glasses, turned over the table. She’d scream out at Walter. Tell him what a terrible husband he was. The old man just put on his hat most nights and went to the local drinking hole where he’d forget about her for a while, only to come back and find her asleep on the hideaway bed with Bobby in her arms.

Down the hall, the toilet begins to run again. The old man yells at it and kicks the base of the commode. He jiggles the handle and laughs. Nothing works, he says. Nothing.

Walter walks into the front room and sees Thelma standing there. They both look at each other in silence as the toilet stops running. The old man holds out his arms. Thelma does not move.

What’re you doing here? Walter asks. You still have a key? Thelma nods her head. You always had the prettiest green eyes. The kind of eyes that catch you. Make you feel something.

Thelma picks up an empty bottle of Fireball off the floor. Some things never change, she tells him. You still running?

Running?

From truth.

I never lied to you.

No. I guess not. You just made things difficult. Drinking made things difficult, she walks over to the door. See you around. Softly, she closes the door. Walter sits on the couch. He puts his hands over his ears and screams, which turns into wild laughter. The cat is still moaning outside.