Girl in the window

A Story by stormwarden

Short, short story

'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain.

Guns n’ Roses

Early morning in the city, and cold. Frost rimes windows and doorways alike. Black as obsidian in the pale, filtered light. The bitter wind a constant reminder that summer is now but a distant memory.

Through this frigid and monochrome landscape the man hurries toward his destination, barely aware, except on the most peripheral level, of his fellow travellers who drift past him like disembodied shadows.

For him, the old city has become dark and gothic, as if the gloom and frigidity, apart from leeching an entire city’s warmth, has deprived it of colour as well; of life.

Yet here and there, colour still spills out onto the frozen cityscape. Buttery yellow light from small coffee shops and cafés caress small sections of the pavement at irregular intervals. Scattered islands in the gloom.

Much of this is lost on the man, until he passes within a few feet of one, and stops.

For in the window sits an old memory. A face as much forgotten as it is remembered. Sitting silent behind the condensate glass, as poised and beautiful as old memory allows. Serene almost, cocooned in a book and a warm sanctuary.

For the longest time he stands and watches, hidden in the icy shadows. Bit by tiny bit, memories come back to him, small canvasses long set aside in the dark garret of his mind.

A park, a summer’s day. A flash of blue from a cotton dress, shot through with silver. A sweet laugh and a sweeter smile. Snatches of conversation, adrift on the breeze. There is a name too, though it eludes him after all these long years.

He shakes his head gently. Memories, he knows, inhabit a dark still pool, beautiful to watch, dangerous in the awakening. Life, such as it is, is in the here and now, as much as it dwells in all his hopes and fragmented dreams.

Smiling softly, he turns and resumes his journey, never looking back.