Shadows
Shadows of fanblades flash by, and I remember only him. Sitting with his feet propped on the table, chewing the end of a pencil, intent on a crossword puzzle. I’d tease him about being an old woman, and he’d playfully jab at me with his pencil.
Sitting with my head thrown back against the hard wooden chair, watching the fanblades go round and round, shadows dancing on the ceiling, passing oh so quickly… wondering if this is life. Because he died today, ribs crushed under the wheels of a car. Honda Civic. He was only twenty-nine.
And I’m still here.