“It rained that day.”

“Rubbish.”

“It did. I remember. I remember my-”

“Driest August we’d had for years.”

“I doubt your memory is too good anymore.”

“Nothing wrong with my memory. Sharper than ever. I can remember things from my childhood.”

“Yes, they say long distant events are sharper than recent events when -”

“They? Who are they?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Everyone always blames this mysterious ‘they’ for their opinions. Too scared to have an opinion themselves. Too scared to own up to an opinion.”

“Yes, well, we certainly can’t accuse you of that, can we?”

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing.” Pause. “Oh, don’t get huffy. I just wanted to talk about that day.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. To make sense of it.”

“What’s there to make sense of? It happened.”

“You don’t understand. I’m still traumatised by it.”

“You’re traumatised by it? Good God, it happened to me, not you.”

“I had to deal with the aftermath.”

“Well, lucky you. That’s all you had to deal with.”

“You’re still impossible, you know that? I never could talk to you.”

“We’re talking now.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that: I could talk to you; I just couldn’t communicate with you.”

“So talking isn’t communicating?”

“Jeez! You still twist my words! You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“So.” Pause. “Why am I here?”

“You’re asking me? You just turned up … again.”

“Um…no, I think you’ll find if your ‘it was raining that day’ oh-so-good memory serves you correctly, that you called me.”

“I most certainly did not. Why would I do that? How the bloody hell could I even do that?”

“Language!”

“Sorry, poor choice of words. But, seriously, I called you?”

“Beckoned then.”

“Beckoned? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Beckoned, summoned, asked, called. Whatever name you want to give it.”

“Why would I beckon you? How could I beckon you? I never even knew where you were, where you went.”

“Well, that at least was not my fault.”

“True. I miss you. I miss … this.”

“This?”

“Yes, this. You. Even the arguing.”

“It’s not arguing. It’s a discussion.”

“A heated discussion, which means it’s an argument. Bloody hell! We even have to argue about whether we’re having an argument!”

“We’re not arguing, we’re – ”

“Oh. My. God. Seriously?”

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“I just wish you hadn’t died that day.”

CategoryFlash Fiction

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