Just a bit of writing I did this afternoon . . . just a diddle really . . .

She looked around. She appeared to be looking for someone or something but in reality she had no end to her looking. She just wanted to get away.

“Expecting to see someone?” his voice said in his cool casual voice. He knew she wasn’t. And she knew that he knew it. But for some reason she kept up with the charade sitting up straighter in her chair, trying to get a glance at something.

“Mills was gonna meet me here. She must be running late,” she said, looking past him. She didn’t want to see his eyes.

“How is old Mills?” he asked, making no sign of departure. He was so obnoxious like that . . . never doing what she hinted at him to do.

“Oh, she’s the same. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute,” she replied, hoping this time he would get it. He did get it. He had gotten it the moment he had sat down. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t want him near her. No . . . that wasn’t it. She did want him there. That’s why he decided to leave.

“Probably,” he said, standing up. “It was good to see you, doll.” She looked up at him taken back. How dare he say it? How dare he call her ‘doll.’ He did it on purpose. He wanted to know that he could still affect her. He wanted to know he could still make her look at him.  If she had had the guts she would have yelled at him . . . right there . . . in front of the whole café. But she didn’t have the guts.

“Yes, it was quite the surprise to see you Anthony,” she said. She used his full name. She did it on purpose. She wanted him to know that she still had control over her emotions and that nothing he could say would make her fall apart . . . again. He nodded in understanding. She watched as he put his hands in his jean pockets and walked away.

She pictured herself calling out to him. Begging him not to leave. She would yell the forgiveness she had already decided to give him. He would turn . . . come back to her and pull her into his arms. And she would feel him again, smell him again . . . live him again. But she said nothing. Instead she looked down to her now cold coffee. She didn’t care. She didn’t really like coffee.

As he walked down the sidewalk he bit his lower lip. He wanted her. And she wanted him. He knew that. He needed her. But did she need him? That was that question that kept him from turning around. He stepped off the curb onto the street.  The cars had stopped because the red light had told them to.  There was nothing else stopping them. No physical force. Just that red light. And perhaps now he played a part in their pause. If the light turned green and he was still in front of them, would they go? Was the red light really the only thing keeping them from running him over? He decided it would depend on the person in the car. It amazed him how much power one colored light had. It was amazing how one unanswered questions held him back from the only thing in life he had ever felt truly happy with.

He should never have gone up to her. But he had wanted to know if she still wanted him. Now he knew. It was selfish of him. But maybe that was what love really was . . . selfish.

1 Comment

  1. Nice.

    I really wanted her to pelt him in the back of the head with a bagel and say “you’re an idiot!” and then, “I love you. So what does that make me?”

    Also: I’m really glad you decided not to run him over.

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