4.
Tiffany Wang | Short Fiction
1.
He was here to heal. Or, at least, that was what everyone kept telling him. Of course, they
also said that he would have to talk to make the pain go away, but he absolutely refused
to do that – so, in the end, he believed little of what anyone told him. Constantly, though,
in an almost maddening pattern, the adamant murmurs filtered into him, so frequently and
persistently that he almost believed them. But, in the end, he knew better.
Ghosts didn’t just disappear with the brush of words against ears. Instead, they lingered,
crashing into minds and kissing away thoughts. It was seven in the morning, and the sky was
on fire.
2,
She was waiting for him at the doorway, the bleeding red of her fingernails clashing with her
coffee cup. She nodded, he nodded back, and they walked in together.
3.
They had met three months ago, when he’d first come to these “support sessions.” She had
sat down next to him, her scraped knees brushing against his. She wore a long-sleeve shirt,
even though it was mid-August, and had dark shadows under her eyes and on her throat.
She had talked very quickly about her nice house and life and how glad she was to have
managed to pick up and reassemble the broken pieces of who she was.
He, for his part, had stayed stoic for the entire hour, only speaking up to offer the broadest
facts of why he was there – dead brother, aged five, car accident.
After the meeting, though, he’d made a point of finding her, if only to see how she’d
managed to rebuild herself. When they’d talked for a few minutes, he had drawn his
conclusion. “You’re just as fucked up as I am,” he said at last, and for some reason, he
found comfort within this fact. “Good,” she responded, her voice holding a light edge. “Then
that means we’re going to be friends.”
46
“You’re quieter than usual,” she commented, as the two of them walked out of the
building.
He shrugged. “Maybe I enjoy the silence.” She laughed, not the least bit offended.
“Nobody truly enjoys silence,” she shot back. “Now tell me what’s really bothering you.”
He bit down on the inside of his cheek. They were crossing into dangerous waters,
where conversation was more than favorite colors and former pets. “He died six months
ago today.”
“Levi, right?” she asked, keeping her gaze ahead of her. He thought of the car and
the woman who was driving it and the way a five-year-old child looked with his spine
torn apart. “Right,” he said softly, because it was easier to agree th