She Was Fading


Delilah met me at Washington Square Park like we always do on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I told her hello, and she nodded at me.

We talk about everything. Well, anything but her. We talk about me, or the weather, or politics, or news, or gossip, or tell jokes, but we mostly talk about me. We talk about how my job is going (that she got for me) and about my life, my problems, my anything.

But we don’t talk about her. I don’t know anything about her except her fake name. I don’t know who her family is, where she lives, where she goes to school, or even how old she is. She looks twelve, but I think that’s just because she’s small. She had long blonde hair and green eyes, and is uncannily skinny. I want to worry about her but she never gives me a chance to.

She’s my best friend.