That mug of tea steamed and I left it on the table awhile to cool.
She was gone and that was all there was to it.
Three seagulls started up on the railing. I didn't know what they were fussing about. It looked like a ritual, some kind of very intense seagull ritual, that even if I spoke seagull I wouldn't understand. I watched them carry on for some time, until it was done, they were done with it, and they flew off; in various directions, I noticed.
For a while I watched the railing. Just the railing, painted a turquoise blue, and people walking by the railing. Then the man came across followed by the dog.
“Good girl," the man said, pointing to a plastic pot on the ground filled with water. The dog didn't look at the man, but went and drank from the plastic pot. The man sat down and ordered something and I watched him, an old man, and noticed his tatty clothes and that his hair was uncut and greasy, but that his manner was calm and courteous. His dog lapped up the water, then came over and sat by his feet under the table.
I drifted. I watched the various blues of sea and sky and railing.
The old man drained his mug. "Good old girl," he said. He got up from the table and shuffled off, pulling slightly ahead, then waiting for the animal to catch up.
"Going home now," he said to the old dog, and noticing me watching added, "At her own pace.”
From the collection, Little Flame and Other Endings
Available on Amazon here - Little Flame
Comments