lighter

The first thing my sister said when she came to visit from Manhattan was, "Do you have a light?" This was after we'd embraced outside the bus station. The first thing I said to her was "Yeah, sure," and handed her the lighter I'd carried ever since she started smoking.

She lit up and pocketed the lighter, and we walked towards a diner a few blocks away. "It's, what, four fucking hours on one of those buses?" she said. "And before that I had to get to the station and wait."

"It's rough. You hungry?"

She said, "I'm fucking starving." She smiled at me. "God, listen to me. It's good to see you! How've you been?"

We stopped on the corner just outside so she could finish her cigarette. I said, "Oh, you know. Not too terrible." I shrugged. She nodded. I said, "How was your trip?"

"Uneventful, I guess. In a boring sort of way. Which I guess is better than the alternative."

"Yeah."

We stood in silence, her smoking, me watching cars go by. She flicked her cigarette off into the street. "But like I said, I'm fucking starving. Shall we?" I nodded. As we sat down inside, she slid my lighter across the table towards me. "Why do you carry a lighter, anyway? I didn't think you smoked."

I shrugged.