Four Weekends and a Funeral

by Ellie Palmer

“I don’t mind silence. I actually like it. I don’t like when other people feel uneasy with it.” Everything they’re not saying presses against my chest—it carries a weight—and if I let it go too long, the quiet turns on me. Judges me. It assigns blame. They wouldn’t be writhing in this interminable silence if you were a more interesting, captivating, exciting person, my insecurities whisper. So rather than face down that voice, I fill the space with my own chatter.

I have never had something resonate with me more than this.

“I hate hiking,” I blurt. “I want to like it, but there are so many bugs.”