High White Sound by Hannah Herchenbach

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  “I think I’m going to start calling you the growth on the couch,” Stu called, passing in the daylight.

  A pale hand flopped over the edge of the other couch moaned. Signs of life! I rolled onto my stomach and gripped the armrest, slowly pulling myself up. The hand did the same. My peering eyes met Nick’s. We collapsed into laughter. “We’re so easy to entertain,” Nick said, in a tone that was both celebration and lament.

  His eyes turned towards the TV. “It’s so tragic.” He frowned at the pop star writhing on the screen. “We could do better.” Then his eyes rose. “We can do better!” He grabbed my arm. “The drag competition next month! You can be my backup guitarist!”

  “I haven’t played in years,” I stammered.

  “Doesn’t matter. You can fake it, and no one is going to know the difference." He rose, his eyes glassy with the promise of a new challenge. “We are going to get on that stage and blow them out of the water!”

  My gaze drifted to the vase on the table. “Didn’t there used to be a fish there?”

  Nick’s eyes never left the television. “Yeah I don’t know what happened to him.”

  “I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already. It feels like the weekend has just passed.”

  Then Nick turned, his eyes sad. “But to think when you leave it’s all going to end.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “There’s no way I’m not coming back.”

  “You know, everyone says that,” Nick said softly. “And I believe you. I believe you,” he stressed. He shook his head sad and slow. “But no one ever comes back.”

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