"It's okay...I understand." She bit her lip and tears came to her eyes.

"This was fun...and sweet and wonderful and special...but I know this was...you know...us helping each other." She shook her head slightly and continued, but in a softer, sadder tone.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be so selfish...and I'm presuming too much. You were so kind and tender. I can't expect you to know how much that meant. I didn't want to put anything on you, but you've been so...nice to me since we met."

“Oh God, Sandy, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with me.” She said as she turned away, afraid to face him.

“...You’re my best friend and you just hurt yourself so badly I can’t bear it. I’m so sorry you feel so bad about yourself and I’m partly to blame because I haven’t told you how precious you are.”

Dale felt awkward. This was the part of the conversation where strong, stoic Dale would make a joke or spout some useless words or just laugh. It was her part in her own psychic drama, and she was expected to be manly; whatever that was. She had a role to fulfill so she took a deep breath in order to say something brave, as if somehow she couldn’t be herself and be brave as well

So instead she found herself crying. She sat down at the table and put her head down; much like Sandy had done moments before. Her shoulders bobbed up and down in rhythm with the sobs as she said over and over,

“Fuck this,” she thought to herself. She held Sandy in her arms and rocked him, pushing the swing back and forth with her legs. She put her head back against the upright of the swing and stared out into the night, feeling spent. She blinked back tears as she thought of how it should be...needed to be, but then she looked down into Sandy’s eyes, seeing for the first time the kindest girl she had ever known and she wept.