“HEY,” SHE SAYS.
I don’t recognize her, and then I do, and I’m not sure which is worse. I hope my face stays neutral; I hope it doesn’t show that I don’t know how to react. Her hair is full of soft, messy curls, light brown. Her eyebrows are massive and there’s dark fuzz above her lip. Hollow cheeks. She was always thin, but this thinness is different; it’s unintentional. Too many things are unintentional with her now, except maybe her name.
She no longer calls herself $isi.
“Hey. I like the hair,” I say.
“Thanks. It got all curly. Weird.” $isi – Sylvia – sits down.
“Thanks for meeting with me. I really appreciate it,” I say. “I might be away for some time. A year. Maybe more.”
She’s not dressed in black; that’s different about her too. I can make out the dark shade of her n*****s th
