MY CHOPSTICKS END up in his orange chicken. His plastic fork scoops out my rice in revenge. We take to the floor, boxes of takeout sprawling before us in an inviting buffet.
His laughter is familiar and so is mine. Our elbows brush every time we reach for the vegetable chow mien.
The television blares Family Feud, but we're not paying it any attention. Our conversation is good. So is the food. We inhale it until it's all gone. Until it's time for him to go.
I don't want him to leave. This apartment hasn't heard much laughter since I moved in. The furniture held me alone. My tears. My loneliness.
Tonight, the walls are coming alive. Because he's here.
A part of me still thinks this 'changed' Jerrison is just a mirage. I'm skeptical. And I have reason to be. Like Doc told me to, I observed Jerrison carefully when he didn't want to give me the password to his phone.
