n.[Obsolete]  the state of being sad or the act of making someone sad

By Linda Dreeben

i am in a writing workshop and it’s my turn to share something this week with the group but i’m not writing because i don’t make myself sit down to do it and wonder why i am doing the workshop and whether it’s just for something to do on wednesday mornings, I feel stuck with no ideas stuck facing revisions of moldering pieces stuck because all i have been thinking about is you, your deleted torrent of texts declaring extravagant love all carved on my heart did you mean them? and a relationship that is going nowhere, can go nowhere no matter how we try to make it something that works for both of us and it’s all i can think to write about and i have written 29,404 words about it but certainly don’t want to share those words with anyone right now or probably ever, words concealed in a password protected document  and if i’m away from the document too long i forget the password and have to find the page in my writing workshop notebook where it’s hidden and i worry that someday i will forget the password and wonder if that will let me forget you

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Linda Dreeben is an attorney living in Maryland. She writes as part of a group of talented, supportive women, and has published pieces in Wild Greens, Roi Fainéant Press, and Five Minutes 100 Words, among other publications.

By David Sydney

“I can’t believe it’s you.”

“It’s me, Ed. I’m back.”

“How long has it been, Mel?” 

At least 20 years before, Mel left town. Now, by chance, Ed had spotted him in front of Giuseppe’s Pizza Parlor and waved him over. 

“Mel Fromberg … You don’t look like you’ve aged more than 30 years.”

“Thanks.” 

The light was poor. Clouds obscured the sun and also the pizza prices posted on Giuseppe’s window. Ed would never treat anyone to a slice, nor would Mel, so they remained standing in front of the plate glass.

“You know, I heard that you might’ve died, Mel.” 

“Died?”

“Yeah… Something about losing control of your car and plunging into a river.”

“Did they say which one?” 

“Delaware, I think.”

Mel’s face twisted. 

“I don’t recall anything like that.”

“It could’ve been near Trenton, now that I remember.”

“Nah… Back then I didn’t go near Trenton too much.” 

“I think they said you were driving a Subaru.”

“No… Whoever died driving a Subaru into the Delaware must have been someone else.”

“I can see that now, Mel.”

“A Subaru’s a good car, but I never drove one… And certainly nowhere near Trenton.”

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David Sydney is a physician who writes fiction in and out of the EHR (Electronic Health Record).