Fruit
By Sheila Cassidy

         I’m still with the same guy I knew you never liked.  He moved in about a month ago.  It is different having
someone else beside me in our bed, someone who isn’t you.  Remember our kitchen, the walls painted so bold and
bright that our parents couldn’t stand to visit?  It is neutral colors now to help him relax after work.
         The job he works is steady, and he saves a lot of his money, something you would never do.  Honestly, I’m so
much better off now with a guy like him.  My friends all tell me how great he is for me and how much more stable I’ve
become with him around.  And although I do feel off balance at times, he always finds the rhyme or reason in my
foolish thoughts.
         But then last night I dreamt of you.  You are in our kitchen, peeling a pear.  Slowly, the green ribbon of skin
unwinds and twirls in the air like a small ballerina.  You look up at me and smile, the same smile you know I’m such a
sucker for, and you offer me a piece.  I reach for it, but I cannot meet your hands.
New Hampshire Writers  Flash Fiction