Cross the Street
by Marie Vibbert
I was on the sofa, wallowing in self-pity and blankets, when my sister answered the door.
“Sadie, honey,” old Mr. Smith said from the hallway, “I beg your pardon. So sorry for your loss, again, but are you going to cross the street soon? It’s just that I haven’t had anything to eat since Thursday.”
Now, I was sitting in the exact same spot the day before when Sadie gave him a can of beans after he said the exact same words, but Sadie just smiled and spoke receptionist-polite to him. “I’ll have to ask my momma, Mr. Smith, but I’m sure it’ll be soon.”