Unfortunate Timing

By Forhad Rahman

I sat in the car when she told me. My breath was short. Eyes danced with tears. My fingers clutched the torn leather steering wheel until my knuckles were transparent.

She watched me with bated anticipation. The clear streaks through her makeup puddled along her chin. She held the plastic sword with shaky hands, barely dry from the drug store bathroom. Her seatbelt unbuckled. She glanced occasionally at the unlocked button by the door handle.

I shifted. Her head jolted me awake. I turned to look at her, my eyes tracing the tears. She’s still here.

“We got this,” I promised.