Real Friends

Tell me how you are feeling, she told him. I mean, really feeling.

Fine, he said.

Not the dressed up, phony, everything is fine kind of feeling, but the raw, real, take it or stuff it kind of feeling. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, her whole stance a challenge.

Why would you want me to do that? He mirrored the same look.

That will mean we can be friends. Real friends. She wasn’t sure he was up for it.

Got an hour or two? he asked, and his voice broke a little. Just enough to tell her he really meant it.

Just Talk


About CarolWiebe

Art entices, inspires, and delights me. Art is a vehicle for laughter, tears, wonder, enlightenment--taking me on a constant path of discovery. You can't say that about housework (except, perhaps, for the crying part).
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