Ashes

By schooladdict

When did he see me? At which point did he spot me across the ant parade? Was it at the steps, the escalator, the ticket machine? Did he watch me; did he choose his moment? I wasn't my usual secret people observer. I was trying my hardest to walk in my new shoes. They've made me painfully aware that my left foot is shorter than my right. Despite wearing footwear for maybe ten years, that would be non-stop, accumulated show wearing, I didn't realise this. I was always an open toe or sneaker type. I had a self conscious swagger with heels as though I could afford to fall over because I could easily catch myself, which I definitely couldn't. Normally, I would watch me and the ants in the CC TV following the access of travel to the next, other, access of travel. Down the steps, up the escalator, across the platform, through the gates, down the escalator, across the platform, through the gates, down the big escalator, across the platform, so on and so forthward. Passing by on a passing screen, and always passed ads. This time I just stood on the big escalator, my soles were sore, my toes, my scars ached. I felt the dehydration of my skin. And he appeared. Next to me. Behind him on the wall, a lady in a flesh coloured bikini popped up in posters intermittently behind his unchanged head. Hey. He said. I know my face did something I haven't felt it to before, contorted by a wind blowing on the ember of a dormant memory. Ashes in the nose, I would have looked happy, I think, I tried not to look too happy, because his face read like time had washed away and we were back at the top of the stairs. He said something I don't remember what, I pushed him. He falls backwards, he catches himself, and we catch each others lost and rage red eyes, and the stilted moment that could have been a newspaper article on a random date is also caught. The other man is at the bottom of the stairs. He is weak. Weaker than us. But it's him I go to. Then leave. As is my style. And we are there again. But this time he is an accountant and I manage a theatre. He says I have his shoes and his birth certificate. I say, yeah, I'll give you your birth certificate, but I don't remember your shoes. He still likes shoes I think to myself. I say, you want to get a beer, he laughs, bitterly. I don't think so. I wander away, covering my face in my hair and wiping away the ash.

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Ashes

Created: Jul 07, 2010

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