word #5

breakthrough

sugar waits every day for her breakthrough.

she wipes away other people's crumbs and stray straws of shredded cheddar. she's the haughtiest formica wiper of them all. she wears cracked black doc martens. she stands in the snow for her smoke break, camel lights and a stolen green lighter. she calls marty just to say, "i'm still ok, just like you promised i would be."

she dials the number with fingerless gloves. she still loves everyone, but she can never go home.

she still hates her roommate, but she's moving out in April. "marty," she says, "As soon as this snow melts I'm moving to Boston."

she hangs up the phone, finishes her shift, and walks home, smoking two more camels. tomorrow it's cheeseburgers at bethie's. tuesday it's a double at the taco shop.

the snow looms, glaciers on the concrete. boston when the plows stop scraping.

marty, tell her.

she'll still be there, no matter how she runs.

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