“Oniisan… ohitori desu ka?”
Then she stood up, brushed dust from her shorts, and pointed at the last sliver of sun disappearing behind the ridge. oniisan… ohitori desu ka?
She nodded, as if that was the right answer. Then she let go of my hand, picked up her knapsack, and started down the steps. At the second landing, she stopped and looked back. “Oniisan… ohitori desu ka
I thought of my father in his hospital bed. The way his hand had felt the last time I held it—dry, bird-light, the bones like twigs under skin. I thought of the voicemail I hadn’t returned. The essay I hadn’t finished. The friends I’d stopped answering. brushed dust from her shorts