Saturday's Storyteller: "I was waiting for you."
by Belinda Roddie I was waiting for you. We were all waiting for you. You never came. You left a text message on Roger's cellphone, but his battery had died, and even though you had my number and Jessie's number and pretty much everyone else's number, you never called. We had a birthday pie made for you because you didn't like cake. We counted all twenty-three candles for you. They were dinosaur-shaped candles. I knew if we lighted them, the T-rex's waxy head would melt into a blob of what it once was. Still, it was the thought that counted. Roger only got to read the text message after we emptied a bottle of bourbon together and left for our respective apartments. He told me you didn't explain why you couldn't come, only that you couldn't come, and you couldn't change plans. I knew, somehow, that it was because of her. I knew that it was because she had pulled you away somewhere, where the neon was acid pink instead of radiant, and she shoved ...