Ficlets

I don’t get a call, I read it in the paper. And I never read the paper.

But, there you are, splashed all over the front page in a raging color photo collage. It was a two-story house in the city. They sent you in to get the kid, but neither of you came out. There was a collapse.

My hands feel cold, even though I haven’t seen you in months. I have to sit down.

I never told you, but it worried your mother that you worked for the fire department. She used to tell me about it. Cry to me over the phone at night, while you were out saving the world. Or at least the part of the world that you knew how to save.

You and I being together, that worried your mother, too. She never said it, but I could tell she expected me to break your heart.

It turns out, I did.

Surprise, surprise.

And now you’re on the front page. Now you’re in a funeral home, somewhere. Now you’re in a box. Waiting for a hero’s burial.

And I’m sitting here on the sofa that used to be ours, crying.

Even though I haven’t seen you in months.