Home > you and me > you and me – POSTCARD #44

you and me – POSTCARD #44

#44 was sent all the way from Deutschland. Thank you, Megan, for thinking of you and me when you saw this little treasure.

 

Sunday

It was the first day they’d ever met on a Sunday.  She’d sounded surprised on the telephone. She waited at the coffee shop for a long time. He watched from the station wagon because he knew she’d be looking out for his BMW. She was wearing her thick horn-rimmed glasses he found so inexplicably arousing. He asked her one morning as he trailed his hand over her stomach why she didn’t wear contacts. She replied with her thick accent that she’d worn them since she was a plain little girl with a boys’ haircut in Berlin. Why not now?

She didn’t reach for her bag to check her phone once in the whole hour she waited. He was proud of her. She paid the waiter for her coffees and stood to leave. He noticed she swayed a little as if gaining her land legs back. He gripped the steering wheel as she passed his wife’s car and her scent drifted through the open window. All she had to do was turn slightly and he would get out of the car. He would apologise and make it right. But her face was set into a mask. She looked like a stranger as she turned the corner.

He picked up his second mobile phone and made arrangements to have his number changed. When he arrived home his dinner plate was covered and still warm in the oven.

How were your parents?

He called from the kitchen.

Fine, she replied from the living room where she watched TV, how was your meeting?

He picked up his fork and stabbed a withered roasted potato on the end. It was warm but the crunch had softened. He swallowed the aftertaste of starch and told her it had gone fine.

 

 

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