“I’m not a kid,” she said, and for the first time, her voice cracked, just slightly. “I’m a person who’s been alone long enough to know what matters.”
“My grandmother used to say,” she started, rolling the lollipop between her fingers, “that when you say ‘ohitori desu ka’ to someone, you’re not really asking if they’re alone. You’re asking if they’re lonely.” oniisan… ohitori desu ka?
“I think,” I said, “I came up here because I didn’t want to see someone I might not get to see again.” “I’m not a kid,” she said, and for
She nodded, as if I’d passed some test she hadn’t told me I was taking. The lollipop was gone now—just a wet white stick. She tucked it behind her ear like a pencil. The lollipop was gone now—just a wet white stick
“Do you come here often?” I asked, stupidly. The kind of question adults ask children when they don’t know what else to say.