I check my watch again. After, I clench my hands nervously and lean forward on the park bench, so that I can see further down the path. She’s never late. I look left and right, even though she’s only ever come from the north. I search for her shape in the distance, but I can’t find her. The thin ribbon of pavement is empty. For the last time, I promise myself, I check my watch.
She’s never late.
The anxiety starts in my chest, quickening my heart beat and tightening my throat. I rub my hands together, quickly, in even numbers. One two three four one two three four one two three four. I take comfort in the movement, even as it does nothing to ease my crippling fear.
“Please,” I whisper, although no one is listening. “Please.” I stare at the point on the horizon where she always appears. I strain my eyes hard, and I will her to appear. She’s coming. As soon as that squirrel crosses the path, she’ll be there. When that couple with the baby is gone, she’ll come. As soon as those pigeons have finished eating. As soon as that leaf blows away. As soon as my heart starts beating again. ”
See how the story unfolds now, on Sliver of Stone.