washington ave

Linda, JHR, and I left the club in silence and got into JHR’s car. He nervously turned on the radio but didn’t say anything. He sensed the tension. We all did. She sat in the front and I sat behind JHR in the back. No one talked. Ciara’s “Oh” was on the radio.

After about five songs she adjusted her top, tossed her pencil-straight brown hair out of her face and turned back to me. “I forgive you,” she said.

I hadn’t said anything and I didn’t now. I responded with a smile.

Ciara’s “Oh” came on again on another station. We all danced in the car and sang.

O– never makes sense when she’s drunk.