“How can you feel alone in a world full of humanity?”

She looked at me like I’d lost my fucking mind, bought the plot, fallen off my high-chair. I half-expected her to dive in with the corner of her apron and bit of spit and start scrubbing at my face. I was ready to fight her off if she did.

But she didn’t. Suze would never do that. She always at least pretended to take me seriously. “Do you? Feel alone?” She asked.

“Completely.”

She got that little line between her arched eyebrows, the one that said she was thinking.

And then it dawned on me. No, dawning is too gentle a concept. It hit me like a ton of shit, that I was an asshole. I am an asshole. I started looking for the words to make it better, to fix it, but sometimes it can’t be fixed. Sometimes the bullet finds its mark, and you know somewhere, a fat lady is singing.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all there was to say. And if I felt alone before, it was nothing compared to the emptiness of a house without Suzie.

4 thoughts on “Susan

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