shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Chris Bays

Page 1 | 2

Yellow Bus, Blue Sun

Red hair strewn around lanky shoulders, around fifteen years young, she plops down, once more, on the seat in front of me and starts to laugh about boys. I am ten. Her laughter is the same laughter I heard when I was nine. It is a laughter that breaks boredom like sun on a wet deck. It is laughter that rises as we watch a blur of sunflowers beyond our windows or ebbs to a giggle when we bump up and down through mud. Hers is an ocean of laughter. Even when she pokes fun, calls me baby, nods off and falls into the aisle, even when the rescue squad forms a ring to hide her – her head drawn back, eyes white – even when they whisper, "Overdose," I hear her laugh.