The Blue Pen

by Lisa Rusczyk

PARKER

  “You see,” said Cleo, “I had a normal girl’s life. I had gotten into trouble for being out with a boy. I was innocent of the worries our elders bear.”

  “More coffee?” Parker got up and poured her some without her answer. She dipped her sugar spoon into the bowl and slowly spilled the sweet grains into the dark mug.

  “Why didn’t your mother ever leave the house? What was wrong with her?”

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Her spoon clanked against the ceramic mug, sounding like timing bells going off in her memory. “I didn’t tell you about that, did I?” She let the brown blanket fall off her shoulders and on to the back of the chair. A lip of dust spat off the edge and marked the floor. Her sweater underneath was bright purple with hand-sized yellow and red fish swimming through the threads. Parker could see other layers underneath the sweater. Cleo was thinner than she looked in the heavy clothes.

  “Mah-wah.” They both looked down to the gray kitten that had rejoined them.

  “My mother loved cats, but we only had one,” Cleo said to the kitten. In one slinky hop, the cat was on the tabletop.

  The cat sniffed every inch of the table, and Parker clenched his mug in both hands to keep from booting the animal off. He did not want to risk offense at this particular moment.

  He asked, “What was the cat’s name?”