These Broken Wings
By Elizabeth Smith “I just don’t know who the real you is,” Nora said, handing her phone to Mitch across the dinner table. It displayed his latest post on his Facebook page. Alright, everyone, the pendulum has swung too far. It’s time to re-stigmatize mental illness and therapy. “So, I had just bumped into Doug out walking his dog.” Mitch sipped his drink. “Remember him? We haven’t seen each other in what, fifteen years? And he’s blabbing about how he’s ruined his marriage and fallen into the dark pit of life. I mean, what’s he doing telling me about his crap?” Nora shook her head, and her silver earrings swayed. “This isn’t about Doug. This is about the things you say online.” She scrolled back to a post from the previous week, the day of Trump’s inauguration: “OK. You’re overreacting. Let’s just enjoy the food.” Nora looked at her fettuccine and roasted vegetables. “I’m not hungry anymore.” Mitch bit his cheek. Nora always had an appetite for his cooking. Maybe she was menstruatin...
