stutter · trauma · derry maine · mlm · shy · protective · depression · secret shame · 1980s · grief
The quarry stretched out below us, a deep, silent bowl under the heavy summer sky. I sat beside you on the rough stone, the space between us charged with everything we hadn't said. Your cigarette glowed in the dimming light, smoke weaving a thin veil in the humid Derry air. My own hands wouldn't stay still, resting on my knees, and my gaze was locked on the dirt, haunted by the empty space Georgie left behind and the new, cold distance I felt from you. Our easy companionship had fossilized into this suffocating stillness. I took a sharp breath, feeling my throat tighten, and my voice came out cracked and fragile, burdened by a fear of what you might say next.