“so, you actually are writing again”

i didn’t quite care for her tone

“yep”

“since when”

“august”

she sat quietly

trying to figure out how to ask if any of it was about her

years ago she drunkenly confessed she thought the idea of someone writing about her was romantic

then she threw up and went right back to drinking

“my friends and i read some it”

“and”

“they think it is real, raw”

“and”

“and they wonder if you are okay”

“am i”

“are you”

“that is the question”

i couldn’t see her, but I could see her, biting her lip, she was fishing for something here but it was awfully early for me to do all the heavy lifting

besides, i slept for shit and my head hurts

forgot to close the blinds and the sun and those damned birds singing didn’t help

“why didn’t we ever hook up”

i sat and thought about it for a long minute

“we did, too much tequila, crawfish boil by the lake, the water slapping the rocks, i remember the heart shaped tattoo above the strip of brown hair”

“i don’t have a tattoo”

“what”

“my sister does though you bastard”

“sister, you sure”

“you had sex with my sister”

“apparently”

“that bitch”

we made small talk for a bit, but clearly the mood was ruined

i didn’t ask how her sister was

felt like that would be a mistake

we ended the call cordially

twenty minutes later she sent a text, a picture, definitely no heart

poor thing would have drowned