As kids, bonding came a lot through the understanding of another's pain. It was probably the only reason I was friends with Clinton.
I remember telling him how my pops just up and disappeared. How I laughed the pain away by claiming that it was the only super power he had, because that's what my mom told me.
“Your dad has a similar power?” I was surprised and slightly confused after Clinton told me.
Was he saying this to make me feel better?
We walked through his house. “This way,” he said and I followed him into the lounge after greeting his mother, who possessed four eyes.
He had no hurt on his face, no pain in his eyes as he repeated, in another way, what he said earlier, “Yeah, he's been invisible my whole life.” Clinton pointed to the couch, “See?”
The cushion acted as if it held the world on top its shoulders.
“I'm so sorry that you have to go through this, bro,” I said, trying not to be a dick about it, even though he was being one to me. “I know how horrible it can be.”
“How so?” a voice came from what should be an empty couch.
An actual freakin’ voice!
There was a moment of silence.
“You can't be real . . .”
“What you mean?” Clinton heard my mumble.
“Oh, hell no!” The cushion let go of the pressure, “Are you Keisha's kid?”
“Dad?”
. . .
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One Terrible Day (Short Stories)
Short StoryJason finds himself in the police station after his ex-girlfriend is run over by a bus. A man struggles to tell his date what he does for a living. A rich man can't seem to understand why women only date him for his money, so he asks Siri. These are...
