Missed

Billiard’s Pick
Gina M. DiSarro


After a year of her silence, it was he who finally said something. Late in the newsroom, as usual, the only light was that from a house lamp they lit for relief from the fluorescents.

He turned from his computer to look at her. “Have you ever liked someone and thought they felt the same way, but neither of you ever said anything?”

Her eyes widened, and she lightly bit her bottom lip. Glad it was dark, she turned her back on him and began typing. “I think… maybe.” She felt him looking at her.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” His chair squeaked as he swiveled back and forth.

She felt something in her stomach heat and her neck prickle. “I don’t— I guess… fear of rejection, or ruining a friendship. I’m not sure.”

His chair stopped. “Oh.”

She heard him swivel back around.

pencil

Gina DiSarro presently lives in upstate New York. She has worked professionally as an editor for both creative and academic writing. She received her B.F.A. in Creative Writing from a small college in Vermont and is currently working toward her Master’s in English. E-mail: ginadisarro[at]verizon.net.

Print Friendly