on the bus, i met a boy who tries so very hard. things get tough but he wears jeans with determined creases and a black shirt. when he sat down next to me, i said almost out loud, i understand. i know how hard things get, and i know how hard you try. but his phone rang just then and the moment belonged to he who had selected it first. his mother, i explained. she calls every two hours and he patiently tells her exactly where he is.
i adjusted the AC duct. he opened and closed a book. we were two people traveling into the city together and i held his hand. he didn't turn. he held my hand back. warm, small. behind us, cable TV wires and crows rolled past like many pictures.
his stop came a few minutes before mine. i didn't know his voice but i knew his hand. and when he turned around, my face was a silhouette framed in the sky.
(experiments with flash fiction)
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