Old Friend
Mathieu Cailler


My heart and I got into a fight, and it left my body one morning. It moved to the Inland Empire, east of Los Angeles, and opened its own liquor store called Aorta's. Outside, a banner hung and waved in the wind, advertising the best sandwiches in town, the coldest beer, and winningest Lotto tickets. I drove by often and spied on my heart though an open window on the west side of the store. My heart usually sat behind the counter, reading A Raisin in the Sun. Around noon, most days, Christy Collins, my childhood crush, would come out from the back of the store and kiss my heart. They would tell each other soft stories that didn't reach the window, and they would laugh a lot. They would share grape sodas with two straws and play with their cat.

One day, I had the courage to enter the store. My heart didn't look up even when the ding-dong sounded. I laid a cold beer and some licorice next to the register and asked for a Lotto scratcher. My heart said it was so good to see me, and that it hoped I would win big. When I got to my car, I blurred off the silver dust with my car key and discovered I had won a free ticket, which would give me an excuse to return to the store. It would be nice to see my heart again in the morning.


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