Market Stalls

Market Stalls

She’d always thought he was cute,
despite his being short and portly,
with the squint which lent mischief
to his sad face, which only sometimes
smiled, usually when he saw her.
This day, she spotted him first. He
trundled down the steps into the market,
his arms working so hard to keep him
balanced. Today, he looked extremely sad,
almost haggard with it. She tried to, but
couldn’t, look away. And still he didn’t
see her, headed off towards his own stall
bf books no longer loved, pulled up
the shutters to start stacking and
restacking the books because it stopped
them from getting dusty. The sun was
only just up, so she brewed two super
strength double espressos, closed her
stall, and, heart racing, carried them the
thirty feet to where he was busying
himself. When he looked up, the
misalignment of his eyes was no longer
mischievous, even sadder than his face
had ever been. ‘Coffee?’ She held the
paper cup out to him. He tried to smile,
but his face wouldn’t work. ‘Thanks.’
His whisper as hoarse as the first frost.
She bent towards him. ‘You can talk to
me. Honestly.’ He turned this way and that.
‘And that’s the thing,’ he said after too
long a pause. ‘I’m afraid of it, afraid it
will drive you away from this place, and
I’ll never see you again.’ ‘Why? How?’
She stuttered. ‘We’re good mates, aren’t
we?’ She wanted to say more. Took a sip
instead. ‘I couldn’t, wouldn’t leave here,
You.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t
Understand.’ ‘I do. Perhaps you don’t see
it. Me. Here. Now.’ His turn to sip. ‘I’ve
always seen you. From the first.’ ‘Same.’
‘Then why have we said nothing? She
Dropped her cup and reached out to him,
a head taller than he. ‘Would you, could you?’
she says. Forever,’ he said. The next day their
Stalls were deserted.

R 28/11/2024 20:09