By Julia Edinger
A CONVERSATION WITH MY DEAD BEST FRIEND
鈥Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.鈥 鈥擡uripides
We sit across from each other in the caf茅
as he stirs his black coffee incessantly,
as if the friction from his spoon clanking on the glass
could somehow infuse the coffee with more caffeine.
I tell him of all that has changed,
(School, work, clean drug tests)
and all that has remained the same:
鈥淪he still loves you, you know.鈥
He taps his fingers against the oak table
with enough staccato to create ripples in my latte.
He was always able to do that,
to create change without changing himself.
His grin still stretches across his face,
nearly disguising the flash of regret behind his eyes.
鈥淚t was too soon,鈥 he finally says,
clasping his bony fingers together.
I don鈥檛 know how to respond. I鈥檓 older now
than he was when he took his last breath.
Still, I gaze up at him expectantly.
鈥淚 miss you,鈥 I finally mutter, staring at my lap.
I pause,
waiting.
When I look back across the table,
it is empty.
The shop is absolutely silent,
except for the clanking of my spoon against my glass.
