Fiction

He trusted her. He loved her. He was waiting for her to provide.

With so little going on, we get to talking. Talk about the past, chitchat to pass the time.

Whatever happened to that one secretary from your job? The one who likes talking about murders instead of doing any work? I bet she already knows more about Aida than I do.

Often, they sit in a neat circle around my mug and take turns spitting in it, rubbing their thin hands.

I’m going to quit, I said. For you. I’ll quit.

Conversation was playful; he was charming, I was witty. Our humor bounced off each other seamlessly, smiles and laughs came easy as breathing.

I want them to say, wow look at Griselda now, thinking her shit doesn’t stink. And I’ll say back to them, it doesn’t ’cause I’m classy now!

“You need to watch the news. Aren’t you interested in the world? Very important to know what’s going on in the world.”

You had to knock thrice slowly on the door’s edge, said Grandma, and if she didn’t reply, that meant she didn’t want you to come inside.

There is, however, an urgency. And, urgently, she tells you stories.