Fiction by David Erlewine
I can’t believe I thought you were cute telling me you stuttered. We’d been going out for a month. You acted like you were letting me in on a secret. You must have forgotten trying to say your name to my Uncle Jack. He gave me grief about it for weeks, how you looked at the ceiling and bit your lip.
I keep re-reading the last line of your message: “I can’t be with someone who likes to travel and strike up random conversations, someone who can’t truly empathize with my plight.” Jesus, Danny, you are such a fucking clown. Fine, go stutter your way into another girl’s heart. If you feel bad tomorrow, don’t ask if we can get together to talk. Ha, I know you won’t call me. Hey, when you and this sweet girl get together, are you going to make her call all the take-out places? Is she going to say her credit card number over the phone? Maybe you two will only order from places like Chipotle, where you fill out your orders online. Oh the fun you two will have.
All those times I let you lick my ass. You loved doing that. You hung around there more than around my mouth. One night I had a stomach ache and almost shit a little in your mouth. I wish I had.
David Erlewine’s work can be found at http://whizbyfiction.blogspot.com. He edits flash fiction for JMWW and is already regretting not taking more chances in this bio. He does not like durian.}