An instance of conflict
Walking briskly, she approached the steps to the warm, damp subway station located deep within the earth. She always chose to descend quickly rather than stand aimlessly on the grey escalator, and made sure to avoid touching the rail that was sticky with the sweat of other people’s hands. Before she did so, however, a voice called out behind her.
Oh my god.
Colliding with a tourist shuffling nearby, she nearly lost her balance and her purse. Damn heels.
Sorry, sorry, she muttered. She couldn’t remember if she had glanced in the mirror before leaving the office.
Unbelievably, she stepped up on tip-toes to give him a quick kiss. After all these years.
They exchanged pleasant remarks, and she spoke silently to herself. It’s so hot out. For god’s sake why do I live in a swamp?
He was watching her intently. Realizing it was time for her to respond, she nodded brightly.
Oh yes, they’re fine. My family is well. And yours?
Ahhh. How nice.
Silently she promised to end the conflict of present meets past. I must end this conversation.
He had put on a few pounds, she noticed and then blushed. How shallow of her.
The little bit of space between them was filled with a thousand steaming memories.
History is not Truth. It is a subjective call to mind of what came to pass from one’s perspective.
She wondered how he remembered their past. Once upon a time, they were intimate, secure… until they weren’t.
A few days later, a call came into her parents’ household. He was looking for her.
Goodbye, she thought.