62
June 19, 2017 - 269 words
The icy clinking of their amber whiskey glasses kept me awake and kept me away. I was trying to sleep but they were still down there, discussing whatever they were discussing in voices that meant they’d forgotten I was upstairs, resting and recovering. There were only a few hours till sunrise. I needed TO REST. Their conversation drifted up the stairwell.
“But what do we do?”
“We have to keep going.”
“What does that even mean, mister I-Give-Up? You don’t even know.”
“… Yeah. I don’t. I don’t.”
“Well now what?”
“We should go to bed. Everything will still be here in the morning.”
A sigh. Then silence. A deep silence that meant they were unmoving, frozen. I imagined they were staring at each other from across the table, willing the answers to come from their concerned eyes, or maybe they were just watching the lantern flame out. Why were we using lanterns indoors? I should talk to them about that. If I remembered. I wouldn't because my memory was like a goldfish's these days. Something to do with the fates I think but nobody would tell me. They think I don't remember what happened, which I don't, but my journal does.
Samantha wasn’t writing me anymore. Why? Something had changed but what? I was still here, still writing her, keeping my promise. No news from Nashville, from Phoenix, or Buffalo. Mia had disappeared into the Hawaiian abyss without a word. That was fine. But Samantha said she would write every week. Now there’s nothing. Just my journal to prove she existed and I would be burning that soon.