When midnight came and went and all that was left on the road was a pile of bones, you wondered about the loss. Were they sleeping soundly through the night and exited the world? What was the last thing they ever spoke? Goodnight. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Did they check their email for one last 50% off sale? These questions shoot off one by one as you walk over slow, crunching gravel undertow. Your father always told you to pick your feet up, stand tall. You wonder if this person did as well. Did what their parent said, or did they ever rebel and say no.
You stand there in the middle of the road, right on the white line that divides the road from one car going to and the other going from, like a postcard. A letter. You wonder about the letter you sent to your best friend months ago. You told her you were sorry you miss her so much. You couldn’t help but share the latest song you were into and what you were going through. You hoped she was doing well. She wrote you back and said one sentence. Hey, I’m sorry this distance is too much for me. GB, Bee. It’s been sitting on your nightstand ever since, Tears dried on a single sheet off lined notebook paper with black pen. Permaence.
Here you are, standing on the white line in a sort of surrender. The letter an end to a friendship you hoped would be forever. You could bridge this distance, between you and this pile of bones. You stand there and think of Bee a little longer. The first time she met you, you had lost a love, the strong love of your grandpa. You weren’t sure you would get over this loss. You wanted to stay in bed, but you dragged yourself out to greet the day. , you both smiled at each other, waiting in the line at Starbucks. She reached her turn and turned back to you.
She offered to get you a mocha. Not just any mocha, but a Venti. And a bag of cake pops.
Everyone needs to to celebrate the everyday, she said. You started to cry. She took you into a hug. It’s okay to get overwhelmed by another’s kindness. Where everything begins. With kindness.
Look at where we are now, Bee, you think to yourself. No cars have traveled this way yet. Being half past 5, you think one would assume you were looking to hitchhike. You don’t even know why you’re here on this road. You just had to get out of the house. Your husband doesn’t know. What would he say if he saw you sobbing over a letter from Bee. Of course he’d try and comfort, but no one can truly explain the loss of a friend.
Breakups? Sure. Divorce? Absolutely. But a friendship ending? No one ever talks about it. Do you cry? Do you try ti make a new one?
You finally walk over to the pile of bones. It’s like immersion therapy — you are facing what scares you. You think about how all in a heap they are. How long had they been sitting there? Do you alert the police? You think you should—but back to the dust we go. You turn your face to the sky, Father, they are yours now. Whatever has led them here to decay on this road—I hope they’ve found their welcome home.
Dawn broke with an audible crack, a back stretching itself out of a long nighttime cramp, and your own cry of release.
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My first attempt at flash fiction. This was hard, and felt like pulling teeth in a way for someone who is more free verse poetry inclined. But it was a lot of fun and very thankful I took the jump to try Skillshare. Definitely going to try writing more. Also may have fallen in love with second person point of view.
crippledatYourtable 