empty streets

Kyle got the distinct impression that his mother knew. Knew exactly what happened, but she hadn't said. Instead on the ride home she was boring him stiff about the Thanksgiving he'd missed.

"We made you a plate and everything," she said as he stared at the wet dark streets. Had it been snowing? It wasn't sticking.

"I'm not hungry." He said hardly above a whisper, clearing his throat. He wanted to be sick. He had to be sick. But no, he was thinking of Amanda. He'd left just like that. And he hadn't intended it to be over so soon because really the first time was never really the best. He knew this by experience. Maybe on the second try it would be better. It would be so much better. Yet, thankfully, other things had been so good. The touching. The warmth. Her mouth on his. Her softness he could still sense on his skin.

Blink. Reality check. His mom was still talking. He had to listen. Had to.

His Mom was going on about how wonderful Sam's girlfriend was.

"Do you think they'll sleep together?"

"What?" Kyle blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Your brother. I can't just say something, now can I? I have to act like I didn't know." She turned on the windshield wipers. It was an annoying rhythm.

"Would you really want to know, Mom? Would you?"

"No."

Kyle almost smiled. She didn't want to know. He wouldn't have to tell her a thing. It was all all right. Yet, in the pit of his stomach a sadness seemed to spread upward toward his throat into his head. He had to hear from Amanda, again. He just had too.