No longer an Act - 2

He was never one to shy away from finding love.

Many a girl had been twirled around the dance floor to his two-step. He fell in love nightly and with an open heart. He didn't cross boundaries but a girl felt that she had been flirted with, courted and wed all in one night. He knew the words to the songs and whispered them in tiny studded ears.

He knew when to speak softly and when to be center stage. A person couldn't help but fall for his ways, it would be pointless to resist. His back was slapped and a joke shared in countless encounters during an evening. He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil.

You were surprised by the sheer size of his hands. They belonged on someone who was much taller and bigger. And though they had come in handy in many a misplaced playground scuffle, he had grown to be gentle with them.

And still he went home alone each night. It wasn't her fault, the woman with the curly hair and the flowered skirts, it was his time to go.

He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name.

It seems that it was not the end.


He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name. (Click to Tweet)

He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here. 

Act - 1

He had ducked into a doorway to a bookstore in Inglewood in the pouring rain. He was just merely looking for a dry place to stop. She had a planned meeting with her sister, and was running late, why are we always the sister who is on time? A serendipitous meeting of two strangers that turned into more…

Her flowing curls and flowered skirt should have told him even then that her art was her life, he would always be a minor recurring character in her daily drama. Her writing came in waves fuelled by bad boyfriends, mostly beatnik in temperament, a professor thrown in for good measure on occasion, trips to sandy and tropical places..and he played his part by being a good stand-in. He was there to dry her tears, offer encouragement, do her research, buy a coffee (strong and black).

Even when they were lying in his bed, high on the hill and could see the twinkling lights below, he sensed that she scrolled through their dialogue for bits she could use in her next play.

He was by nature, warm-hearted. His sister still recalled how he would name the pigs on the family farm. He tended them and taught them (pigs are such intelligent creatures!). And then he'd cry unabashedly when "they were taken to town". So in many ways he was used to endings; he anticipated them but was able to treasure the time until they arrived.

It was not a surprise to his sister, who had witnessed the long story of her brother and the girl/woman that it would end abruptly.

He had maintained his patience, because distance was her most favourite word.

He looked at her one day and realized that he had no more to give, she had taken it all. That her charm and curls could not keep them together in his old age. He put down his unfinished coffee and walked out the door.

The End.

He was used to endings but still treasured the time until they arrived. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.