She scraped into the subway, the clanking train tracks making her feet and forehead feel little bumps. Her blurry reflection stared back at her from the glass, and there was a distant memory of her mother scolding her, that no, that was strange posturing, and that she would fog up the glass and sully it.
Unconsciously, her legs began to swing by themselves, and she forced the growing sprouts inside of her to stop making her feel queasy, tightening the fabric of her cardigan.
What would they say to each other? How would she look? Biting her lip, she leaned her head away from the window and turned away, knees bumping sharply.
It had been far too long.
Part of it was her fault, and part of it wasn’t. Her sneaker-covered toes scraped against the rough floor, and she swayed along to the periodic screeching of the train car, people shuffling in and out past her.
She blinked twice, hard, and tried to remember her profile from the last time they had met. Only straying golden locks and frail hands called to her concentration, and she puffed out a disappointed sigh. That wasn’t going to exactly help her much, was it? She vaguely recalled one of the miscellaneous e-mails exchanged, pertaining to hair-dye and getting a boyfriend. Maybe they were engaged now. She had never asked again, and it had never come up after that.
The subway announced her stop, number seventeen, and she jolted upright, eyes meeting with that of a businessman looming above her, suitcase rocking as they trundled along.
“S’cuse me,” She forced out, quickly averting her eyes to his shining leather shoes. Swerving through the mass of bodies and avoiding too much bodily contact, she ended up stumbling out of the compacted doors, breathing a little too quickly for her liking.
Overhead, the sky was dotted with grey puffs, and she narrowed her eyes to see the clock hanging against the wall, too far to exactly tell her the time. Maybe she was too early.
She shoved out of the station, wiping her hands against her jeans, and clanked down the avenue to the source of her anxiety.
‘The Pizza Parlor down by the river is nice, I hear.’
She could hear the faint echo of her voice in her head, and remembered how she had smiled at the fact that she still had a sweet lilt in her voice, distinguishable even over the poor quality of phone static.
Reaching the established meeting place, she crowded into the wayward little shop shoved between two others by the harbor, and inhaled the welcoming fragrance appreciatively. There was a rickety table in the corner, just overlooking the water flowing below, and she headed for it,seating herself comfortably into the little cramped chair by the wall and ordering an iced tea.
It was all horribly domestic, and she fidgeted on the old hardwood seat, wondering why it was that her tastes in restaurants had been wonderfully met. This was all flowing together in a manner entirely too easy, and she willed herself not to relax just yet.
Maybe she’ll end up being caught up in some other affair, and will cancel. She nervously looked through the glass, and crushed the burgeoning hope in her chest. A catalyst of dread and excitement was bouncing around inside, and she couldn’t help but lean her head against the cold surface again, similar to how she had been positioned on the way here.
The storm clouds ahead kept moving past, and she absently chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about how she should’ve brought a hat. Was this an omen?
The waiter returned with her iced tea and a menu, and she brought out her glasses, wrinkling her nose as she looked at the menu in an attempt to push them up without actually moving her hands from the laminated paper.
Maybe the thoughts of food were helping to keep her sane, but this waiting game was making her twist the menu’s corners, her eyes flitting a little too fast over the choices listed in graceful font in a desperate attempt to stop her thoughts from flitting elsewhere.
It didn’t work, not by a long shot.
Groaning in frustration, her forehead clacked onto the old, scratched table, and her eyes closed, not noticing the jangle of bells as someone entered and found her slumped in the corner.
“What are you doing?” The amused shadow hovered over her, blocking out the cozy lighting previously shining on her from the overhead lamp.
She jolted up, her glasses falling off and colliding with the table surface.
She looked different, yet the same.
Her golden curls only framed one side of her face, the other half pulled back into a casual bun at the back. The ends of her messenger bag were frayed, and her blue eyes soft, yet with a clarity that washed over her. Biting her lip sheepishly, she sat up.
“Hi.”
“Emalie.” She grinned down at her.
“Kay.” She breathed out.
Maybe they had lost their connection, but they sure could try to get it back.
