fwriction

I passed a woman on the street who resembled you, wore your dress. The green one, from Calypso. She carried her shoulders in the same manner, as if some secret weight pulled her from side to side. I nearly missed it, but I was sure she smiled, subtly, as our bodies occupied the same square of broken sidewalk. I heard your voice then, the words that day at Alice’s, over rooibos. You don’t know me, you said, not anymore. It seemed that was true, after all. I held my breath after the woman had gone, counting and waiting for her to return, graze my shoulder with her short fingers. I counted and walked, though I was not sure where I left off.