Ficlets

“Where the hell did you go?” I yelled. Before I continued to yell at, as it appeared, myself, I saw the girls standing frozen from the corner of my eye. “What? Are they on pause now?”

“Pretty much.” The question was not a serious one. But the answer was. “Emma,” he said, “for a great listener, you seriously suck at listening.” I rolled my eyes at him, wherever he was. “You need to listen. You need to go through the changes that happened to you from a different point of view.” He paused again. “Think of it as an out of body experience.” I could imagine him sheepishly grinning; his voice gave him away. I didn’t respond. “Ok. Just listen.”

Then I heard me talking again. “It’s their loss. Don’t push it. The time will come.”

“Will you come back?” I begged, now that the conversation was over.

“I can’t,” I heard back.

“Why?” At that point, I felt like a broken record—a little kid—repeating the same question over and over again.