You held my hand all week, sober, through the streets of Lahaina, the sun burning my shoulders and my neck where my hair is short from when I shaved it last fall. We stand in the kitchen, drunk on cheap wine coolers consumed on the beach where our fingers entwined, sand stuck to the soles of our wet feet. I reach on my tiptoes, draw your head down to mine, but instead of your lips touching mine, you hold a hand against my red shoulder and push me back. A bottle rocket explodes outside, sharp and clear as your answer.
Melissa Flores Anderson is the author of the short story collection "All and Then None of You." Read more of her work at: www.melissafloresandersonwrites.com