[Welcome back to Fiction Friday All! First short story of 2013. Enjoy.]
Had the same dream again last night.
I’m leaning against a leafless maple tree, deep in the forest, the floor a carpet of foliage-matted collateral from winter’s whispers.
He’s here too. Camera dangling from his neck, sunglasses slightly lowered on the bridge of his nose, jaw tight with determination.
Close. Closer. In front of me now.
The tip of his thumb draws an invisible line along my waist, right above my belt buckle, just below the hem of my purple shirt. He’s searching for a pocket. To put his heart in.
Problem is, I removed all the pockets from my life. Yesterday. Because pockets are for keeping things. I’m not interested in being kept.
For saving things. I prefer to leave the change on the table.
For warming hands. I’ll steal back heat when summer returns.
I push his hand gently aside and shrug my shoulders. I can’t help it if he can’t see me. Sometimes. Most times. You see what you want to see.
Back. Further. Hold still.
The camera snaps and he’s trying to capture my face. Or the moment. That just passed. When he thought I loved him. Or he me. He still loves me. One always takes longer to let go than the other.
The sight of my back. Walking away. Will be his last shot of me. That’s all I ever planned to give him. He can keep that. File that photo in his pocket labeled moments.
Back I return. Like waking from a dream. The moment vanishes. Back to forward I move. One real step at a time.
Life with pockets. Everywhere. Life.
Are you a pockets person? What do you have in your pocket, right now? What have you found in your pockets that you thought was lost?