As she stood just outside the motel door, she thought about the last time she had seen him when they had both been seventeen. His family was moving away. He came in on the last day and got his things and left. He had looked at her for a long time and, turning is head, had said goodbye to her and walked away. Now, all these years later, he was coming toward her, not away from her and she was there to meet him. She wasn’t sure if she would even recognize him. The car drove up and she was sure, yet not, that it was him. Once he stepped out of the car with a big smile on his face, and began to walk toward her, she knew it was him. He had a distinctive gait and this was it, coming toward her. They embraced quickly and headed to the room.
They talked. He asked her a lot of questions and asked her to read to him from some of her journal. She did so willingly and yet, as she did it, she got the feeling that she was performing for him. He sat on the bed and watched her in a sort of detached way. It made her feel as if he was sitting outside a glass wall watching her; not participating; just observing. It was a little creepy but it was all she had.
After a while, they went for a walk down the street for sodas. Just a walk. A special walk. He took her hand as they walked and that was special to her. Never in her life had she had a man take her hand as they walked; not even the man she had been married to for so many years. This was was full of promises for tomorrow and regrets of the past.
That was the most special thing that night; a special walk, holding hands in the brisk November night.
There was a slow down in the talk as the time for him to leave arrived. All in all, they had spent about five hours together. Not a lot but so much more time than they had spent together in the past. She asked if she would see him again the next day. It was only Friday and she had the room through Sunday afternoon. He said he wasn’t sure but he would call her and let her know.
When he left the room after a long embrace, she couldn’t walk him out. She had that memory of him walking away from her all those years before. She didn’t want to watch him walk away from her again. That couldn’t be the last thing she remembered of him.
The door closed, and she listened to his steps as he walked away.
I think this is the last part. There’s more but I think I’ll write those bits and pieces as another series of short clips.