Lying Next to Me

by Gregg Olsen

People gravitate toward danger and drama to show concern, yes. But also to silently count their blessings that nothing like this has happened to them. That being close to the unthinkable takes them off some list that God or fate keeps track of. I’m safe. Not going to happen twice in the same place. Nothing will hurt me. Please, God.

And when she makes up her mind, there’s no changing it. I’ve often wished that I could be so sure of things too. But I’m not. I’m too easy. Too malleable. I’m a ball of unbaked dough. My wife is a rolling pin.

She was just echoing Frank’s words. The kinder thing to do would be to not pass on such poison.

wonder if sometimes I mistake quietness for kindness. Silence for caring. When it gets right down to it, no one ever really knows what other people are thinking.

I could easily pick out the bits of truth from her exaggerated tales—

It’s funny how the most traumatic events that happen to you are always there behind a sometimes-impenetrable memory.

“Being happy takes a lot of work.

I think of my brother whenever I see the young faces of the men or women who serve our country. They join for many reasons. Some to fight. Some to get out of a bad situation here at home. Others do it because struggling for something is the fuel for their very existence.

don’t feel up to celebrating her life. I know people expect me to, but grief is funny. It gets mixed up with residual feelings that don’t just go away because someone is dead.

fault—the way people do when they try to keep random evil at bay by affixing blame. It is always easier to sleep at night if the monsters outside your house only knock when you give them cause.

Trust and stupidity are close friends. Of course, no one really knows that until it’s too late.

People like Kristen wear a mask every day. It isn’t makeup. It isn’t latex or anything overt like that. It’s their ability to keep their emotions hidden by pretending to be normal. Or happy. When they never really are.