Flowers at the Station

So, on a writing blog, i guess at some point I should post some writing. Now sounds good 🙂

Let’s ease our way in with a quick little story I whipped up, oh, a couple months ago. Comments welcome, of course.


 Flowers at the Station

And then he recognizes it, the little train station, not so little anymore, where they’d met. It shifts before his eyes to the way it looked all those years ago. White stone with brown wood trimming. Strong iron railings. No graffiti or energy drink ads.

Her image, tall and lean, in the blue dress she’d bought just for the job interview, appears in front of him. He knows it like he knows his own shadow. One of the few things he still knows. His Maggie.

Fumbling through her bag for what he later learned was a cigarette, she’d dropped her ticket for home. He leans over to pick up the memory, just like he’d done for the real ticket, though now he moves slower. So much slower. His back hurts on the way up.

“Miss? You dropped this,” he’d said. When, surprised and perfect, she’d looked at him, he knew she was the one. He still knows, though she’s been gone for years.

She’d taken the ticket and turned from him without a word. His heart, as it had that day, lifts and breaks all in a single breath. A familiar desperation takes him. He knows if he let’s her walk away he’ll never love again.

That’s when he’d spotted the stone planter filled with fragile little flowers. They’ll do, he thinks, and reaches out. He smiles.

Every day he visits the station, though never realizes he’s doing it until he’s there, and sees the blue dress, and the ticket drop, and her walk away. Then he picks a few flowers, and smiles.

There are more planters now yet fewer flowers, somehow. Still, he can always find one or two to give to his Maggie.


 

Thanks for reading,

 

{RDj}

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