by Shannon Peil
He was six foot three and crying and my hand was on his knee and her face was turned away. She had tears running down to her chin and couldn't stop saying she was sorry, but I felt nothing. He put the ring back into his pocket and her eyes sunk to the floor and she put her hand in mine as he got up to leave. He didn't even slam the door. We didn't see him again and I remember thinking it was interesting how fast a friendship could dissolve but I forgot all about it soon, lost in her lips and fingers and hips and thighs. Later that night she told me she had cried over how she had made him feel, not that she had made the wrong choice - and I fell asleep in her arms and felt no shame.
Shannon Peil is 25 now, and that seems weird. He gets published sometimes, rejected others, and thinks that's fine. He edits for people who actually know what they're doing here.