We all put on Davids sweaters and Jackets that were lying in the crates he was leaving behind. David was wearing a lace Santa cap with pink fur around the edge and on the top. Sarah and I made it for him one Christmas. I was surprised he'd kept it until this point. Now it had filtered out of the dregs and he put it on his head.
David took a picture of us standing in his clothes, he cropped the heads like a thumb blocking them. We tried to stand like he stands, then we sat like ourselves in the rubble of his leaving. A type writer without a ribbon, ink spots on the floor, a spool of film marked "return to Lorraine Rene Cook," some white shoes without laces, sheets, a pile of clothes.
David asked if we'd follow him around the house, in a line, while he pushed smoke into every corner with a smudge stick. We agreed and followed him from corner to corner. He danced walked, I laughed. He was still wearing the lace hat.
We followed David outside of the house to porch by my window. David turned and smudged each of us with the smoke. He smeared cedar on each forehead. "Cedar to protect against evil" he murmured. He put the burning smudge into a ceramic pot waiting on the brick then threw the whole thing at a rock post supporting the roof. It shattered and the pieces fell.
We helped him carry his bags out to the car. He hugged us each goodbye and left to spend the night in the airport.
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