Ben Segal
[Below are three shorter fictions, by Ben Segal. Enjoy!]
Robert Helps a Synagogue
There were eight of us and I was speaking. We were circled on chairs with metal frames and beige injection-molded plastic. Mid-week the run-down Beth El basement hosted a rotating string of such circles, each freshly and uniquely depressing. AA and NA and Grieving and us.
I was saying something I meant about my mother. David's eyes had strayed and fixed on a loose patch of wallpaper. Elaine ground her tea-tree stick to splinters. I kept talking, tried not to be irritated. This was hard enough for all of us. Murray, meanwhile, had worked his hand into the denseness of Jessica's hair and slowly pulled a fistful to his mouth. I caught on when I saw the sweep of black from his fat lips to the back of her head. I watched the silent movement of his jaw and wondered when Jessica would notice.
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