The Lonely Romance

The wooden step to the front door was caved in, and she took me to a rigid sofa next to a window.  She was a young high-schooler that the tutoring service had assigned to me, in the heart of Amityville.  It was our first session, but I knew the window light was not enough.  I stood up to turn on the lamp on the end table, and saw the bulb was missing.  When I asked her what novels she had read lately, I got blank silence.

For our next session I brought a 150watt bulb, and two paperback novels of the popular kind (I didn’t want to start with Wuthering Heights).  One was called The Lonely Heart.

As we ended our last session, I wondered if she read in any of the novels.  As I stood up to go, I noticed behind the base of the lamp, the bulb was shining on The Lonely Heart, with a bookmark in the middle. 

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