She turned “,You know as well as I do that we cannot change the course of time, and neither the different roads we have taken.

Anna steered sturdy of his intent to hostility. She still could affect him in ways he despised.

“Anyway you have never seemed better for it, simply…”

He hoped for anything that would lead her to remember who he was. In curiosity she came upon his picture, lucid in the evening lights. And her reason again became clear to her. Anna walked toward him.

“When was this picture taken?”

His pleasant facade threatened to undo itself. She placed the dusty frame before him. She spun her gentle but menacing fingers around his, “I need you,” and then she paused plaintively and bore into his pitiful eyes, “To tell me.”

  The picture was a recollection of his earlier days in Winchester England, 1996. Edwin had completed his last semester at Oxford University, a business major and graduated Henry his brother of twenty-eight years was to blame for his travels. He had bribed him with airplane tickets, and told him he was young sarcastically undermining his social life.  Henry’s relationships were popular for its short longevity.

“I’ll stay for a week then leave for New York,” was Anna’s weary response to Edwin’s persistent hold of her arm. She shifted her feet restlessly. Warm tears glistened over her glassy eyes.

“It’ll…It’ll be better there,” she lied. He stirred miserably and searched his pockets for a gold ring.  A commitment he had wished to make a long time ago. But now she was leaving. He held her for a long time as if trying to transmit some torn emotion. Then he walked away.

 In the turtle diner at the opposite side of the street he watched her pace frantically up and down the pavement, the anxiety on her face. He ordered a drink.

The cab came and she got in.

 The street dark and unperturbed did not disturb affect him as he strolled a slight twitch in his sway. He heaved a sigh. Some streetlights were off. Rugged looking kids scattered themselves around a ruined building. The air was tainted with stifled laughter from a tired apartment building. He stopped in his tracks. The world met in her eyes. The footsteps outside my door are innocent going to visit a friend perhaps. The softness of her voice, trailing absentmindedly on a phone, as I realize this is all I will ever be, a shadow walking one step behind her on a cold slushy wet February afternoon.

“Anna,” he whispered to the wind.

  The laughter stopped and he glanced up. A middle aged man with a weight pressing against his belt closed the open window to the street.

see: http://lesanndramorton.yolasite.com/