AM:103

Carla snapped the tines off the plastic fork with her thumb. “No matter how deeply I bury you in the gravel pit of my memory,” she said, “you come crawling back out.”

“There’s no need for poetry,” Andrew said. “I’m just here for my chair.”

“I’m eating,” she said.

“You just broke your fork.”

“See, Andrew, that’s just how you are. It’s no damn business of yours how I eat, and what I eat with. What if I brought this fork to the door just to show you how serious I am?”

“All I’m saying is, you’re not eating right now, and I want my chair back.”

“I want those years back,” Carla said. “I want my youth back.”

“You may have your youth,” Andrew said. He had a bag with him, and he reached into the bag and pulled out a small, carved box. He handed it to her and she held it with both hands.

“Sorry I kept it for so long,” Andrew said.

Carla took a step back to let him in. “Your chair is in the kitchen,” she said.