She washes her face and pastes on a smile. Her lips feel as stiff as cardboard. Her bottom lip is cracked and bleeding. Her teeth are yellowing from t...o many cigarettes, too many glasses of wine. She looks away and fumbles for a hairbrush. He is sitting in front of the television when she enters the living room. His shirt is unbuttoned, the tie loosened. He looks rumpled and boyish and tired. She feels a fist clench around her heart, feels love squeezing her until it seems she will burst, like. One-on-one conversations, yes, but with just us two in the room? No. I treasured the memories of those conversations though… no matter how trivial they were. His voice would lull me to sleep at night and I’d wake up thinking of his bashful little smiles. There was one incident about that time that escalated things even more. We played a game at a graduation-committee party, hosted at a public park one evening in late April. Even now I don’t remember all the rules of the game, except for the one. More

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