Siblings by Zary Fekete

    Tripp CC




Siblings

I opened the door for her. She walked into the cigar shop and looked around, taking it in. I walked to the counter and felt her watching me. 

We walked down to the river. I lit a cigar and handed it to her. We puffed for a few moments. The monuments on the other side of the river were underlit now that it was dark, giving the buildings a golden glow in their faded 19th century splendor.

“Ever smoke before?” I said.

She shrugged. “Some pot in college. No cigars.”

A tram rattled by on the tracks behind us, momentarily separating us from the city streets to the rear. Another tram passed above on the bridge above. The tram sounds mixed with the bubble of the river below, creating a stew of city sound which made the silence that followed more intense. I heard a soccer ball being kicked in a park on the other side of the river.

“What did Mom and Dad say when you said you were visiting me?” I said.

She stared at the fast-flowing water and flicked in some ash. “They were glad,” she said. “I think they hoped the missionary stuff would rub off on me.”

“Where have you been so far?”

“Started in Ibiza,” she said. “Then trained through Italy. Mostly followed the spring breakers.” She flicked some more ash. “Finally, here.” She hooked her thumb at the city around us.

I nodded and puffed. “Where next?”

She dropped her head in mock exhaustion. “Who knows,” she said. “It’s all boring.” 

“Really?” I said, incredulous. “Are you sure? You said you came through Italy. Didn’t you look at any art along the way? No churches?

She smirked. “Well, I guess it’s not boring if you like that stuff. But…It’s not for me.”

“Then why do it?”

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Aren’t we supposed to? Isn’t that college?”

I smiled. “Can be. Doesn’t have to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gonna preach now?”

I laughed. “No,” I said. 

We puffed some more. A few more trams went by. Then we turned and I walked her back to her hostel.

She left the next day. I got a text the next week. She was in Paris. It was a selfie. Her in front of a church. The text said. “Happy now?”

​I composed a text, a longer one with a Bible verse. I read through it a few times before deleting it. Finally, I just wrote, “Love you, sis.”

​

Zary Fekete grew up in Hungary. He has a debut novella (Words on the Page) out with DarkWinter Lit Press and a short story collection (To Accept the Things I Cannot Change: Writing My Way Out of Addition) out with Creative Texts. He enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter and Instagram: @ZaryFekete

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