Mary Estrada's Editor's Pick:
"On Being Alone" has a traditional story structure, but works as flash because every detail contributes to the whole and to an implied larger narrative. This is beautiful, layered storytelling and a great example of precision editing.
Arthur drove down from New York the day after Faith called and told him about the incident with Gray.
Faith greeted her son with a hug. "Hello, stranger." She let Arthur peck her on the cheek, and then closed the door to keep the winter out.
"I was so worried," Arthur said. He handed over his coat and took off his loafers. He examined Faith's face, as if he might find a mark there. She smiled and ran a hand over his chest.
"You're cold," she said.
"It's January." Arthur wrapped his palms around her fingers. He put on a determined look. "Mom," he said, "he needs help. You need help."
Faith withdrew her hand. "How is Blakie?" she asked. "And Jane?"
Arthur walked into the living room. On the television, a man was pitching an exercise machine that promised total fitness in just five minutes a day.
"Janie's tired," Arthur said. "Blake's still not sleeping through the night."
The man on the TV explained how to order his incredible machine for twelve low monthly payments of $29.95 each. Less than a dollar a day for a whole new body, a whole new life. What a scam, muttered Arthur, and he turned away in disgust. He noticed Gray sitting in the corner in the La-Z-Boy.
Gray acknowledged Arthur with a slight nod and shifted back to the television.
Arthur stared at Faith. "I'll make some tea," she said.
Arthur followed her. "Gray's here?"
Faith filled a kettle with water. "Where do you think he would go?" She set the kettle on the cook top and jiggled the dial until the burner clicked on.
Arthur stood in the middle of the small kitchen, hunched over like an unusually tall man or a man wanting to hide. "You've been in front of the computer too much," Faith said.
She passed a stack of photographs to Arthur. "They're from last summer," she said. He flipped through them while she narrated — trips with Gray's support group to Gettysburg and Amish country. A fourth of July picnic at Aunt May's. Two entire rolls devoted to a visit from Faith's brother and his grandchildren.
The kettle whistled. "I don't drink tea," Arthur said.
Faith ignored him. She poured the hot water into a teapot and dropped a teabag in, let it steep. She carried the pot and three cups to the table. "Gray, dear," she called. "Come and have a drink with your brother."
When Gray appeared, Arthur glared at him, but Gray's expression remained blank. He shuffled to the table. Faith patted the chair on her right, across from Arthur. He squeezed past her.
Faith produced bits of news about the neighbors and the town. Arthur sat sullen. Gray grunted a request for a second cup of tea and for some cookies. When he finished, Gray pushed his chair back.
"Would you like to go now?" Faith asked. Gray grunted again. After he left, Faith looked at Arthur. "He's going downstairs," she said. "He's almost finished a dining room suite for Mrs. Weis."
"You let him in Dad's workshop? With all his tools?"
"I don't think your father would have minded."
Arthur slammed his cup on the table. "Mom, stop pretending. We need to get him away from here."
Faith didn't answer. "Don't think about the money," said Arthur. "Janie and I can help."
"I want him here," Faith said quietly.
Arthur raised his hands. "After what he did to you? He's not safe."
"I forgot a few pills, Arthur, that's all. He's fine. I'm fine."
"Fine?" Arthur sneered. "Fine?"
He reddened. "If you're not willing to help yourself . . ." Arthur trailed off as Faith rose.
In a calmer voice, Arthur said, "Think about it. You're alone with him all day and all night —"
"I'd be alone without him, Arthur."
Then Faith saw a glimmer of understanding. Arthur swallowed and looked away. "Well, we can —" He paused. Faith walked out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Arthur followed her. "We could take you in. I'm sure Janie wouldn't mind."
Faith took his coat from the rack and said, "There's a special service at the church tonight. You can join us if you'd like. Seven o'clock."
Arthur put on his coat and shoes. "I'm still worried, Mom," he said.
She opened the front door. Arthur bent over, bracing himself for the chill. "Take care, Arthur," Faith said. She gently but firmly shut the door.
Bryan S. Wang lives with his family in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania. His flash fiction has also recently appeared in Vestal Review and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.