We Sold Funeral Flowers - Chapter 2 :: (micro novel by John Oliver Westbrook)

​After she vanished, I waited and heard a gruesome thud. 

And some commotion. 

And it was quiet then. 

The darkened 27th floor, the window empty, the door was still opened. The coffee was on, from 3 PM, beginning to burn; and I wasn't even feeling lonely yet.

She was a deer. We met that way, it was November 21 and I was wearing a peacoat with tennis shoes, Levi's, a green beanie.

She wore that look I keep seeing in women who have figured out how to ward off the majority of oogling guys eyes, after about age 20. A cold quick, curious, glance my way.

She was a deer. I have always been a wolf.

I wear gentleness like a sheepskin.

But only one of them could see
But only one of them was invisible
But it was time for her to fall

And time for him to let her fall
She used to sing that song, Rivers and Roads
With an earnest look in her eyes
And a raw tone in her voice

A confidence I always envied
I couldn't harmonize though

So I instead became more of myself and just listened and locked with her look and felt safe not pretending

          "There's a whole world happening out there Felix...right now"

She loved to walk down to the walking bridge and sit on the second bench in the center, facing the sunset, absorbing the people and dogs and last light. And thinking about the distance home.

Then she'd leave right before the sun would begin to disappear below the horizon. And she wouldn't look over at it, even while she walked home. And this made sense to me.

We used to talk about those bridge walks. I used to listen. Then she stopped telling me what she was thinking about when she'd sit so still.

This used to be another story. 

Now it's another dream.

This one time I remember she was so cold and this bum noticed her braving the chilled breeze and without saying anything he came up to her and draped his coat over her. 

Startled, she stopped and said 

          "oh no I couldn't accept this" 

but he insisted and so she smiled and gave a look that made him want to find that kind of warmth.

But this story is not about that bridge or those walks, not really.

Let me tell you what happened the day I met Hannah...