Girl-girl waits for Boy-boy to call. It’s always like this. It’s always like this.
Girl-woman isn’t watching. If she were, she’d throw the phone against the wall.
Girl-girl and Girl-woman share the same body. Crowded and shoving each other aside.
Girl-girl loves Boy-boy, but Boy-man has grown tired and is trying to do the right thing. Takes Girl-girl out for coffee. Says things like sorry and over and friend.
Girl-woman wants to get out of there. She looks around the dusty café. The dust, Girl-woman knows, is made out of shattered promises.
Girl-woman pulls towards the edge of the seat. Struggle and tug but Girl-girl is happy watching Boy-man. Girl-girl struggles back. She could sit like this forever. Just a bit more time and she knows that Boy-man will get tired and give up. She could wait and wait forever if she had to, but she doesn’t have to. Because just as Girl-woman gives it one last shot before giving up, just as she places her hands on the table and presses as hard as she can, Boy-boy reaches under the table and tickles the side of Girl-girl’s open-sandaled foot.
Francine Witte is a poet and flash fiction writer. Her work has recently been in Smokelong Quarterly, Wigleaf, and others. She is the flash fiction editor for Flash Boulevard and the South Florida Poetry Journal. She lives in NYC. Find her at @francinewitte on Twitter, etc.