The CrosswalkA Chapter by Cherrie Palmer--Sara Michaels-- The man grows closer with each step. His wide brim Stetson swept low, shadowing his features, not that I need to see his face. My attention is drawn to the brown flannel shirt accented in turquoise, and you are in it. Yes, I see you in the lovely shirt with the pearl snaps. Memories wrapped in the teal and silver Christmas paper that the shirt rested in; still rests in. My nervous habit commences. Left thumb tracing over our symbol of love unending.
Today's rain no longer stings my face, as the chosen memory stings, my heart instead. Yes, my soul cries out for me to stop this insanity. I know I should, but I will not, I cannot. My very breath feeds your memory, forcing my eyes to bring the impossible into focus. The man and I end up at the crosswalk, where I brush against his arm to touch the corduroy patch on the elbow as he passes. Rain hides my shame as bitter tears mingle with the evening shower. Undoubtedly, the man notices what transpired, as he came to a full stop, and pushes back his hat. His grey eyes broke the spell asking me why. I tuck away your memory and hurry away. --Thad Powers-- I hate the city. I hate spending my entire Saturday here, scurrying around in the rain like a wet rat, in search of cheese, or in my case, a retaining pin for my AR. The late November storm caught me without my slicker. With my hat pulled tight, I shift into a trot. I beeline to Foschini's for a slice of heaven with a beer. A great spot to out-wait the bad weather. Even under the sheet of rain, the smell of the brick oven guides me.
That is when I saw her. I slow my stride so the vision will last longer. I redefine my definition of, ‘a slice of heaven’ to be a slender brunet, with a hint of curves. Grace, draped in burgundy, moved toward me. The matching dress, heels, and little handbag polished off with a clear raincoat. Sleek, silky hair frame her angel's face; refined elegance sprang to my mind.
On deeper exam, I could see her eyes looking right thru me, her expression dampens my mood. We intersect at the crosswalk. What happens next shocks me. I come to a complete stop as she touches my arm. My heart races with anticipation. At that moment, I want nothing more than to know her name. I push back my hat for a better look. Her dazed expression told me so much. Those green eyes wet with grief held no answers for me. I wait for her response, but instead, she took off in a flash, leaving me to wonder.
--Reach--
As Thad stood there, the moment soaked in. He had been alone for three years, and this connection captivated him. He did not believe in love at first sight, but he could not deny this feeling. He turned to watch her go. "I didn't know women could move that fast in heels," he said. He forced out a small cough, as his throat tightened with each step she took. Then, came his second shock of the day, when he took out after her. On the other hand, Sarah could see the door to her work and quickened her pace to reach it. Her poor mind screaming, 'You are a fool, a total wacko, what kind of therapist are you?' She bit her lip, fighting back the sobs that her emotions demanded.
She made it to the awing, pulled at her rain bonnet that somehow had slipped into a knot. She drew in a long slow breath, holding it four seconds, then released. After the third time of doing this, Sara could feel her heart slow, and her fingers steady. With composure regained, she removed the hood of her rain gear and gave it a shake before placing it in her pocket. She smiled, as the familiar chime of the dangling bell sang out, and she stepped into her sanctuary. With the doorknob still in hand, Thad's hand covered her own. A warm flush washed over her, settling in her cheeks. Partly because of embracement, but that was only a small part of it, which in turn crested her ears aglow. For once, she was grateful she’d left hair down. "Ma'am, I'm not sure what just happened, but I want to apologize if I somehow frightened you." She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come. Again, she drew in a breath, then released it. "I should be the one to apologize." "I'd settle for your name." His smile set her at ease, and with no time to analyze, she answered his simple request. "I'm Sara, Sara Michaels." "Well, Sara, Sara Michaels," he said in such a playful tone. "I'm Thad, Thad Powers; I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee." Inwardly he rolled his eyes. It was too late to be clever. He did not want the moment of silence to become awkward; so, he kept talking. "How about it, Sara, is your life so full of friends you don't have room for one more?" "I, um, have to go to work." It was then he noticed the door read, 'Reach,' and under it said, 'Victory is a phone call away,' followed by, ‘800 REACH OUT.' Sara crossed the threshold into her office. The small step landed her into a warmly lit sitting area, painted a dark mushroom, with hunter green curtains, and a rich maple hardwood floor, that showcased a matching maple desk, and an over-stuffed leather chair. The desk faces two grey wingback chairs. The familiar ding signaled the closing of the door, but not this conversation. She knew he would still be standing there behind her. "What kind of place is this?" He asked. "It's a hotline for those on the edge. Saturday evenings are my shift." "Alright, how about this instead? Around the corner stands my all-time favorite pizza joint. How about I pick up a pizza and bring it back here, and you can save the world, eat the best pizza ever, and I get a chance to talk with you in between calls. That is if I won't get you in trouble." "I love Foschini's. The Margherita is my favorite," she said. "And, the boss?" He asks. There was another delay, but this time he did not fill the gap. He let her think it out; after all, it was just pizza.
"I'm married!” she blurted out." Then, sighed, "Well, I mean I'm widowed," she said, screaming at herself once more for sounding so pathetic.
"That gives us plenty to talk about then. I'll be back in a flash," Thad said, as he raised his eyebrows in question. Sara nodded her head, and Thad was gone. Smart man, she thought, leaving out of here before she could change her mind. © 2021 Cherrie PalmerReviews
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Added on November 28, 2020Last Updated on June 24, 2021 AuthorCherrie PalmerSpringfield , MOAboutI am a published poet and love poetry. After a lifetime of country living, I'm making a move back to town. I find my surroundings a great inspiration to me. I also have two books on Amazon Kindle: .. more..Writing
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