Changing Times Prt 2

Everyone leaving the room at once causes mayhem in this narrow corridor, and I can’t tell which way we’re even moving as we’re crammed among so many, it’s like ants evacuating a collapsing den via the only escape route. It’s claustrophobic.

“Yeah, I think we used to play in the same places as children.” I answer distractedly, as I avoid collision with oncoming traffic, trying to be polite, but I’m too busy side-stepping large males pushing by, and trying not to get trampled underfoot.

“We did. I remember you. You had a brother, Jasper, about my age.” The use of his name, from someone else’s mouth, sucker punches me unexpectedly, and I have to bite my lip to stop the sudden inhale from the slice of pain it inflicts. Even after all these years, I’ve never really fully mourned the loss of them. I try never to think of them and push it down whenever one surfaces.

“I did. He didn’t come ba