A Million-to-One

“This is the last one, I promise.”
“You know this is crazy, right?”
“I know. I knew the other fifteen times you said it.”

And I do. We’re here for the weekend, flying home in the morning. We started at lunchtime. Now it’s dark, we’ve been walking for a few hours. I’d like to think the light hanging from the building is a good sign, but the chances of finding the right bar in two days is almost ridiculously slim. It doesn’t matter. I have to try.

She worked behind the bar a year and half a world ago. I went in a lot- a lot more after we started talking one quiet night. She wasn’t beautiful, but it didn’t matter. She sparkled. When she smiled, it lit up her whole face. When she laughed it lit up the room. Then, one day, her residency was ending and she was coming back here. On her last night, I told her I’d miss her. She gave me the name of the pub she was working in, joking that maybe I could look her up if I was ever in town. And then, this year, came the prize in the radio competition. It seemed like fate. Even on the plane, but that was before the hours of walking. Well, maybe it is.

“Maybe this will be the one,” my companion says, trying to sound hopeful for me.

We open the door, the heat, light, and noise spilling onto the street, and go in.

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 is one comment

Your email address will not be published.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

  
Please enter an e-mail address