“How far DO you run?” says the quiet voice from the front porch. Rocking in a once white wicker chair sits my neighbor. I have been meaning to catch him, to give him a hug. Today he found me. His wife died just days ago.
He sat tapping a nearly empty cup of water on his knee, as he described how she died. How much he missed her. How hard the nights were now – water splashes out running down his leg. He keeps tapping…as if the tapping keeps the tears in.
What he misses most…a simple touch of her hand. A pat on the head…knowing she is there.
He sits looking back, I sit on the hard concrete step looking forward.
I listen more. Then, silence.
I promise zucchini bread and walk passed the one house between us.