I see him across the courtyard and I smile. It is him… Yes? No.
It looks exactly like him and nothing like him all at once. Then his lip curls up when he
smiles back at me. It’s him. That’s his smirk.
The courtyard is full of people we know but they’re careful not to cross the invisible
line that connects the two of us. Their faces are even slightly blurred, as if he faded
them out so I would have no choice but to look at his strange, familiar face. There’s a
fountain to my left but the falling water makes no noise. There are no distractions. He’s
watching me watching him.
The people begin to press in, forcing us together. “You’re dead,” I say, as I
shake my head in an attempt to erase this knowledge from my brain.
Yet, here he is, reaching for my hand.
He holds it awkwardly, only by my fingertips, and squeezes hard. Too hard. “Tell my
wife I love her,” he says, his eyes pleading.
I feel our time together begin to slip, so I tighten my grasp. It’s useless. With a final
squeeze, he releases my hand with such force that his fingertips leaving mine make a
snapping sound that pops open my eyes. I can still hear the snap somewhere in the
distance but the courtyard is gone. The people are gone. He is gone. Again.
Alone in the dark, my arm is reaching out to nothing. But the sound of that snap echoes
in my memory, and the lingering presence of his hand remains on mine.
You can follow Jenn on Twitter at @Jenninthecorner