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Debut Flash: 'Molting' by Jenn Keohane
I zippered myself to Christina for years: playdates, sleepovers, whispered secrets about boys we thought we loved. I haven’t seen her since graduation.
She breezes into Starbucks with a vibrant scarf and dangly earrings, her gaze on my grey sweater and sun-damaged face. We catch up on thirty years: her jewelry business, valedictorian son. My first stint in rehab, bedazzled lighter collection, cozy home. I leave out that it’s an Econoline van. Christina means well, I think, as she places a manicured hand on me. You’ve lost touch with the person you used to be.
Which version? The nine-year-old with an imaginary dragon, buck-toothed tween dancing naked to Duran Duran, bleached-blonde dreaming of Broadway?
Once, in 9th grade, we double-dated German exchange students—hers handsome, mine homely. They slipped their magic hands into unexplored places. Suddenly, I had a new feeling to chase; I sprinted toward boys, and later booze, shedding my childhood skin that had grown too tight, numbing myself for decades.
We finish our coffees, pretending we’ll do this again. She slips off her scarf—it’s from Barcelona and has good juju—and loops it around my neck. It’s tight, suffocating, like a noose, and she’s standing too close. But she’s right: the blue brings out my eyes.
She hugs me, my first touch since that truck stop rendezvous.
This could be the start of something new.
The only thing I want is to twirl, naked and irreverent, with my imaginary dragon, but I don’t remember how anymore.
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Jenn Keohane has been writing microfiction since 2022. Though tragically unpublished at the time of this submission, she’s been an NYC Midnight finalist several times. She lives in sunny California with her husband. Their young adult children, now off the payroll, have thankfully flown the nest.
