Short: The Wake
It is a sleepy Sunday afternoon and the street is still and quiet, save the occasional tinkle of cutlery and sound of TV coming from the houses. Buried in my own thoughts, I walk slowly down the road and as usual subconsciously try to avoid cracks in the pavement. I look up and suddenly spot my niece on the other side as she walks up the hill, towards the direction of the park. I have spoken to her only occasionally as she is almost twenty years my junior and always away whenever I stop by.
I notice she walks briskly, reminding me of a quicksilver temperament of her late mother, but I also recognize something odd that makes me stop in my tracks. With her arms folded, pressing against her stomach and slightly bent like caught frozen in some apologetic bow, I realize that this is not the Charlotte I remember. While standing there and contemplating about what to do I notice that she unknowingly drops something small and white. Observing the unexpected, I suddenly want to shake off my pathological habit of cowardly ignorance and cross the street and pick up what appears to be a small linen handkerchief. I run after her hoping to catch her before she disappears into the park but she’s too fast and I am too embarrassed to call out.
Panting and catching my breath, I enter the park and lean against an immense tree. I unfasten my tie and with my thoughts racing far ahead of me, I wipe my forehead with the linen still clutched in my hand. I look around, waiting while my eyes slowly adjust to the shade of the park, and finally I spot her sitting on a wooden bench about a hundred feet away, near to the observation tower. Looking at the city’s bay, she appears to be mesmerized and fully consumed by the vista and completely unaware of me or other park visitors, of which there are not many. Still not sure if what I do is right, I walk cautiously towards her, like looking some invisible trap.
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