Mornings With Me and Mr. Mills

Earl rocked in his seat on the couch for the momentum to lean forward for his lighter. His spot was worn, contoured to his body as his legs hid under his blanket, the beige one seasoned with ashes, tears and ink stains. He sucked hard on his cigarette as we watched the eighth straight day of Hurricane Katrina footage. My feet wrapped in the blanket as well, I sipped my morning coffee and bummed one. Staring at the screen, he said, "I don’t want you to leave."
My eyes dropped. "I know."

I blew a pitiful smoke ring. "But if I don’t leave, how can I ever come back?"
He donned a sudden, wistful smile. "You might not."
"You’re crazy. I can’t stay away from you guys forever!"

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He paused for a moment, turning away from the screen and looking at me over his shoulder. "Jess, you’re just a human hurricane. Hurricane Jessica. You blow into people’s lives, tear down their defenses, stir up their heads, and leave the shreds of their emotional debris in your wake. And then you’re gone."
"I resent that."
"Well.... I don’t. And I’m one of those people you did it to."