“I Think You’re Ready”

Flash Fiction by Jeff Hill

 

This morning:

You woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Your alarm doesn’t go off for another ten minutes. But your father called. Upset. And now you’re up. Why don’t you tell him to shove it? Why don’t you just take a sick day? Perhaps tomorrow I’ll build up the courage to tell you it gets better.Work really drains you today. But you still look radiant. You try your best to make others happy, yet never make time for yourself. Why don’t you leave that dreadful job? Why don’t you believe in yourself the way I do? Perhaps tomorrow I’ll build up the courage to give you that much-deserved pep talk.

Later tonight:

You make it seem so easy. Talking to guy after guy. Just to hurt me. It’s like you’re a different person. Completely. Why don’t you act like this at work? Why don’t you act like this all the time? Watching you sleep makes me want to hold you. But I know you’re not ready. You wouldn’t understand. Even though I hope you’re different from the others. Why don’t you ever see me? Why don’t you ever prove me wrong?

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll build up the courage to introduce myself.

Originally published in Linguistic Erosion in 2014.

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