“Listen,” he said to his friend, his fists clenched above his knees, his face a reddened mess of tears. It caused him physical pain to place one word after another. “It is hard. Very.” She placed a hand on his balled fist, and he moved his other hand to rest on hers. She blinked a lot, and her eyes were pointed at the ink-stained carpet. Every word felt like a tooth pulled. Having to settle on the right word, the word that made ‘sense,’ made him feel like his skin was being ripped apart. The words mocked him. They taunted him from afar. An amateur actor on a stage, watched by an audience of words. He tried desperately to remember the words. The words that made sense. The words in the script. The words. What words? “What can I do?” she asked. “Is there any way I can help? I know a good therapist.” He shook his head. “Don’t. Know. No.” Each word took a second. “I don’t know how this happened, everything was so...so normal before,” she said. “No one understands. Everyone is so confused.” “No. One. Understands.” She sighed and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry about the other day. I just want you to know that I’m there for you if you need me.” “Sorry. Thanks,” he said. “And what you said before? That you’re a language?” she smiled. “Yeah.” “I believe you.” “Thanks.” She patted his relaxed fist and got up from the carpet. The door closed behind her. A stack of paper lay next to where she had been sitting. The words applauded from the darkness. He didn’t bow before leaving the stage.
Déraciné
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