Counting by 7s

by Holly Goldberg Sloan

I usually found so-called “small talk” boring. I like “large talk,” which is more about theories and concepts, mixed with facts and known quantities.

The woman does all the talking, and Pattie doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even say “uh-huh,” or “I understand.” She is like me. Silent. I admire that in a person. The ability to keep your mouth shut is usually a sign of intelligence.

Mai, when she’s not at school, or with her friends, talks to me about her life. I listen. But I don’t answer. I spend most of my day with Pattie. She’s there for me. And just being there is ninety-nine percent of what matters when your world falls apart.

Her even disposition is one of her best qualities. And she’s maintaining it. Sort of. Maybe that happens when you’ve been through a lot. All of your edges are worn off, like sea glass. Either that, or you shatter.

That’s the thing about time. A second can feel like forever if what follows is heartbreak.