“Chisel me this, Batman!” she said, laughing.
“Riddle.” I corrected her. “It’s riddle me this.”
She silently shuffled the salt and pepper shakers. I drank my coffee; stared out the window. Cars passed.
She always says the wrong thing, like she doesn’t quite get the punchline and I feel this stupid need to correct her. Me, and everyone else.
“I don’t really fit in the world,” Her sadness slipped into a smile.
I smiled back, took her hand. Held it, as it turned out, for the last time, over pancakes.
She poured out the entire syrup jug, slowly, deliberately.
For Carrot Ranch, where Charli challenges us to Chisel out 99 words.