13
They had already shocked my heart once. I actually felt it a little, somewhere on the surface of my lump of light.
The woman said, “They’re trying so hard, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“It’s nice that they want you around.”
We came to a bench, like a park bench, stuck there in the middle of gray space with no view backwards or forwards. We sat.
I looked at her. She had lovely eyes, light brown like a paper bag, and thick brown hair that grew halfway down her back. I have no idea how old she was—could have been thirty, could have been less or more. Her mouth naturally turned up into a smile. Not everyone’s does. My mother’s mouth is so straight across if she’s not smiling all the time people think she’s mad.
“So,” the woman said, “what do you think you’ll do?”
“What do you me
