At the station

Our friends drifted off to other side of the stairway, leaving her and I alone again to talk. I expected that now she would answer the question I had asked her two days ago. The question that had been eating at me since then. Instead she pointed at the small loaf of bread I was holding, a present from her excursion into the city. "Think of me when you eat it," she said with a smile. I wanted to tell her that I had been thinking of her almost nonstop for the past two weeks, so that would hardly be a problem. "Of course I will," I answered instead.

She was leaving the next morning, back to her home town in the sticks, back to nights at the club for high society where she worked as the piano player. I looked at her, unsure what to say next. We both looked across the stairs at our friends. "I'd still like to visit you sometime," I said. "If it's ok. If you have time."

"Ah, really?" she smiled. "Well, I'll be busy with work, but...I'll be back for a few days in May. We can see each other then," she added reassuringly. I nodded and smiled. That smile. Not a mask unique to this country, but this was where I had really learned to wear it. We lingered for a moment, and as our friends turned back towards us I struggled with how to say goodbye, unsure exactly where we were at. She leaned in closer to me and put her hand on my arm. I did the same. "Well then...have a safe trip." I said. "Goodbye!"

--

I used to enjoy writing short stories, but it's been a while since I had any inspiration or seriously tried my hand at one. This is, perhaps, a little short even for a short story, but we start with baby steps, don't we?

Anyway, I think we'll be back to our regular content this weekend. Until then!