8thdayfiction

…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

You’re Dumb

The last time I saw her, I pretty much knew it would be the last time, so I made sure I said what I wanted to say: That I loved her, all that important stuff.

She didn’t say much back, but I understood. At that point, she was barely lucid.

But just before I left that night, she beckoned me closer. I moved my chair next to the bed, and as we leaned in to each other she whispered:

“Why didn’t Peter Cetera’s parents name him Et? That would’ve been hilarious.”

She smiled at me. I smiled back and said, “You’re dumb.”

“You’re dumber”, she said.

Those were the last words we spoke to each other.

But any time I hear a Peter Cetera song–usually, you know, when I’m in the car going through the radio dial and I just happen to find one, not that I’m looking for one or anything–I start laughing and crying at the same time. In those moments I imagine she’s watching me, saying “HA HA–you’re getting emotional over a Peter Cetera song! You’re dumb!”

And I always say back to her, wherever she is, “You’re dumber.”

And it’s kind of perfect.

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