The day after a person leaves is when they begin to disappear. It’s the obvious stuff at first — the presence of another living human to negotiate space with for a morning shower or in the kitchen, of course, but also the stray hairs you know couldn’t come from your body, the books and magazines you’d never have thought to enqueue at the library. Days turn to months turn to remaking your space in your own image to reclaim, to forget, and it’s mostly fine until you stumble upon unexpectedly sharper, less obvious reminders that someone else was near once — a lost hairpin or a photograph you’d shuffled deep into a pile of controlled chaos. There’s a bottle of Dave’s Insanity Sauce I received as a birthday gift and have had in one fridge or another since early in Obama’s second term. It’s 180,000 Scoville units and retains a deep, dirty red color. It's potent in that I can’t use more than a drop or two at a time without my eyes watering, nose running, ears popping, tongue burning. It's potent in that I don't need to use any drops for it to work.