Some kind of progress – 12

She and Ollie met several times over the next few weeks. She realized that their friendship and the ease they felt with each other had not diminished over the decades. He had walked her home once, to her building with the striped awnings and eyebrows of cream coloured sandstone. A building she had loved instantly, because it had reminded her of the old, brick buildings that were common in their hometown. It even had radiators.

Once she had arrived for their coffee and met one of Ollie’s neighbours, a woman who lived one floor below him. Grace had smelled of vanilla and had the cheery, open face of someone that practised smiling often. She sometimes gazed to her left as though she was pondering carefully, giving her answer serious thought. They talked about art and Ollie, it was as though they were connected somehow.

Early on, she had forgiven him for being the messenger.

She told him about how when her position changed to day-time she had become more aware. It was so much easier to hide her sadness in the comfort of the dark.

He asked her if she recalled their days together in college, of streakers, and pre-happy-hour drinks in the corn field adjacent to their college. Oh, those days of camaraderie had always stayed with her as the highlight between cramming for exams and hitchhiking to save on your finances.

As time went by, she opened up more, her smile no longer seemed a betrayal of all that she had lost and laughing didn’t hurt. Ollie even gave up his toupée. She didn’t mention it outright, she just said that “he looked especially fine” that day, he understood.

Some things don’t need more words. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.

 

Turning Back the Pages of Time - 10

If you’ve ever been in a situation where someone so distantly from your past emerges into your present, you will understand the shock that she felt as she approached Oliver.

Quick as her brain could go, her mind picked up the buried scent of wet, as she reached him. It had been a day of pouring rain when they had sat down over a hot chocolate in the Student Centre all those years ago. He had been wearing a heavy (wet) knit sweater, similar to a style that she had seen recently again on some young people. Everything old is new again.

As he stood, they embraced with the familiarity of a time when your friends were your family as you grew into adulthood. Ironically, they had lived in oblivion of personal pain and family struggles. Only many years later had she heard through the grapevine called Internet that Oliver’s father had died, estranged from his family and a

Clouded Poetry - 9

Flashback. She and Oliver had been good friends back in college. They exchanged quips, reading material and scribbled poems for the other's scrutiny,

The person she was dating, whom she eventually married and was unhappy with for a long period of time, went to another school. One day she had enthusiastically pulled out her latest poem for Oliver to read. So many decades ago and the image of it still vibrated in her head. He read quickly as was his style, each word floating across his face.

When he was finished he took her hand from across the table in the student lounge and said the words that had echoed and bumped around in her head all these years. He told her that the object of her affection was a rat!

Mr. Charming had been spotted on more than one occasion with another specific girl.

She had often wondered through the long painful years of the marriage and even since its end, how things could have been different if she had heeded Oliver's words.