Five Feet Apart

by Rachael Lippincott

If I’m going to die, I’d like to actually live first.

And then he starts to laugh, loud and deep and wild, in a way so familiar, it feels like pressing on a bruise.

I attempt to hold the door open for her, which is apparently very tricky to do when you’re holding a pool cue and need to be five feet apart at all times, but I’m a gentleman, dammit.