Many Meetings

The moment I got off the train, walked into the ticket hall and the bear hugs I’ve missed so much, we picked up the conversation where we’d left it last time we were together, adding in the things we’d shared for the weeks, then months, then years that we’d been words on a screen. He was back now, and I was back. Until now, our meetings were like a lunar eclipse. Rare, spectacular, a little bit odd.

Now we are sitting at the huge old wooden table in the kitchen, stuffed full of fish and chips from the same old place, a few beers into the long night and a couple of sheets to the wind. The moment is right. The shadows have lengthened and the valley visible through the windows twinkles with electric lights from homes and cars. I bend down and pulled my old canvas day-pack- the same one that had been stuffed full of books the day he almost ran me over with his bike, and we met- onto my lap. I remove the contents and place it on the table.

He stares at the bottle. Then at me. Then at the bottle again.

“Oh God.”
“Oh yes.”
“No, actually- the airport in Berlin. It was on special.”
“I bet it was.”

He looks at me again.

“Why did you get it?”
“Because I remember. I never forgot. I don’t think you did either. I don’t want to go away again.”

When I meet his eyes again, he’s smiling. He pulls the bottle over and twists off the top as deftly as the first time we drank it, seven years and a marriage each ago.

“I love you too,” he tells me.

The following two tabs change content below.
Writer of mainly spec-fic, I also play roleplaying games, particularly enjoying the shared storytelling.

Latest posts by Ellen Boucher (see all)

There are no comments

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Please enter an e-mail address