Three Feet
by Starr Jiang
The distance between Phil’s worn leather loafers and the cherry red pumps beside him. The odd space between his sweaty hand, so sweaty that he could feel the wet dripping through his trousers onto his thighs, and her hand, crumpled in the folds of her floral skirt. She did that when she didn’t know what to say.
He stretched his eyes to the side of his head, and his sweaty hand followed. Three feet became two. Not that it mattered. She was severely unchanged, still brought her other hand, the uncrumpled one, to her nose to check the time, still lifted her vintage hat to glare at the crawling number above the lift doors, still arched her chin to the collar of her turtleneck, leaving a crimson imprint on the knitted fabric. His own body swayed to the faint classical music emanating from the corner, his outstretched hand climbed faster, swatting away the space…his heart fluttered as she untangled her hand from her skirt, her head turning, turning to look his way…
But his vision magnified on that silver band on her finger, clear as day. The space between them jolted, then stopped. The doors slid open. Her head stopped turning, her green eyes gave him a disjointed smile, her cherry pumps dragged her away.
- 1:44 PM
- 0 Comments
