you and me – POSTCARD #48
This year is starting slowly, friends and loved ones.
You ever get those decades you just want to kick in the teeth?
Luckily my words and determination have returned before anyone had to get hurt.
Fresh start >>>>>>>> HERE.
Thank you LMB for sending in this photograph that’s haunted me since it arrived.
Have You Been Here Before?
The knock on her door is loud.
She turns down the radio and doesn’t move until it sounds again. This time with a hesitant triple tap.
She shoves her cigarette in an ashtray resting on an unpacked box and answers the door.
He is her neighbour in the little cul de sac of apartments. He sticks out his hand and offers his name.
Henri with an i is wearing a woollen vest over a crisp shirt.
Aren’t you warm?
She asks and colour floods his cheeks as he looks at the cream slip she’s wearing.
She asks him inside for a cool drink and cracks a tray of ice cubes over the kitchen bench. He lowers his gaze as her breasts move inside the lace of her slip.
She looks down and shrugs.
It’s hot, she says, and passes him an iced tea.
He asks how she’s settling in while looking at all the boxes piled around the room.
The same as always.
She says that she moves around a lot.
You haven’t been out of the house since you moved in.
She asks if he’s been watching her.
He looks trapped but answers that the woman that lived here before her didn’t leave the house the whole time she was here.
She just sat at those curtains and watched everything.
He looks at the yellowing lace and his eyes shine.
She tells him she has left her house. That she works nights at a brothel and usually avoids her neighbours.
They finish their tea in silence and she sees him to the door and watches him cross the courtyard back to his apartment.
Do you know where she went?
She calls out with real concern in her voice.
But he closes his apartment door behind him without answering.