I saw him.

I saw him.

He called me. I didn't recognize his voice. I was out shopping with friends.

"Can I come meet you?"

I told him where it was, but that it was very far away.

"Yes," he said. "That's too far for me to go." He had a game to ref that night.

Mark asked me where I wanted to shop next and I told him I thought I had better go home. He took one look at my face and drove me there without complaint.

My roommate drove me to the restaurant.

I sat for five minutes, staring blindly at the menu.

"Hey," he said.

He was wearing black dress pants, white dress shirt, no tie, black business jacket. He was still wearing an underarmour shirt under his white button up.

"Spanky jacket," I said. He grinned and shrugged.

"Gotta impress the boss men," he told me, though I wondered.

We talked. Both had ceasar salads and water. Really boring.

I ate without tasting.

~

I'm still processing the conversation. Maybe I'll tell it, maybe I won't.

It was strange.

~

He drove me home, a scant ten blocks.

We sat in his car outside my house.

There were words. I was choking on words. He grabbed my folded hands and held them tightly.

Pressed so hard together, our hands looked the same colour.

There were words. I went to turn away and he pulled my hands, pressing his lips to my cheek, right near my ear.

I let him.

I cried a little bit, out of frustration and pain and wanting.

"You have to go," I told him. He should have been lacing up his skates when we were still there talking.

I touched his head, his cheek, briefly.

"Make me proud," I told him, barely above a whisper, and then I popped open the door and walked away and didn't look back.

.

Rosie.

Before&After