She asked me if I was happy and, instead of answering with a word, I made a long, hard ‘k’ sound. She said it had come from my soul after I told her I didn’t know why had done that instead of simply saying ‘yes’.
Him: I think he has some kind of mental problem.
Me: I know.
I knew. I could see it. Everyone else could see it. He has some kind of mental problem.
I told my father about him. He was dropping me off at the train station and talking about my sister again. I almost never like when he talks about my sister. It’s never anything good, or pleasant. It always makes me uneasy. He’s tired basically. He doesn’t think he should be trying this hard – not at her age, at this stage in her life, in his.
I told him about the man at work; how I found out that he has a masters degree. Him – the man who looks like he has some kind of mental problem, the man who has a son. I told him I’m not worried about my sister. I’m not worried about her because if that man can have a masters degree, then she can do something too. She may take longer than others, but she can do something.
I got out of the car and walked to the station. I had 40 minutes to get to class.