Ezoic
We sat at my kitchen table with our phones in our hands.
The house was quiet. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere outside, a dog was barking.
“Has Nathan been acting strange?” Denise asked.
I thought about it.
I pictured his face every Sunday night when he came home. Exhausted. Gray. Dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days. I’d thought they stayed up playing video games all night.
Ezoic
I pictured the way he rushed straight upstairs and into the shower the minute he walked in the door. Every Sunday. Before he even said hello. I’d thought it was teenage hygiene finally kicking in.
I pictured how he’d stopped telling me what they’d done.
“How was Cole’s?”
“Fine.”
“What’d you guys do?”
“Nothing. Hung out.”
I thought about his hands. One Sunday in September, I’d noticed his knuckles were cracked and red. Like he’d been washing them over and over. I asked about it. He said it was from basketball.
