Her bedside

When she was first diagnosed Shelley’s friends came every day. But in time their visits dwindled. Her prognosis worsened. Only Lenny kept coming. Every second day he’d pop in on his way to work. Sit with her a while. They’d talk about what was happening at uni. Sometimes he’d bring in a new track he’d mixed and they’d share his headphones. He’d always seemed like just one of the crowd. But now he was everything she’d imagined about leaving school and leaving home and finding her way in the world. She’d always been the one with attitude—the one with the weird hair and a knack for staying just the right side of trouble. But when Lenny said, ‘Hurry up and get better, there are things you and me oughtta be doing,’ she smiled so much the nurses thought he might have slipped her something, or perhaps she’d had some sort of turn.

(this is an edited version of the story Lifer published on this day, 2010. See about small stories about love)