Category: 2022

By KL Storm

A Fictional Short Story

Thursday night, 6:52 PM…another day of slicing meat and cheese was about to draw to a close. That routine seldom changed for Tristan at Lenderson’s Deli. If he was being completely honest, the old small town family business felt more like a big black hole, threatening to suck him down and under these days. Especially in the last eight months since his dad died suddenly. The show was all his to run now. Everything felt strange and lonely.

With a broom in hand, Tristan swept robotically under the sandwich prep counter and slicing equipment. The bell on the front door of the building jangled, signaling that he had a customer.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. He propped the broom up against the wall and quickly washed his hands. He turned and then just stopped and squinted at the figure who had just walked in the door. A young woman, probably about his age, stopped in front of the counter.

A blindingly bright neon green scarf adorned her neck and shoulders. She wore a bright yellow hooded sweatshirt, contrasted against an old grungy pair of jeans, quite literally held together with silver duct tape in several spots.

As hard as he could, Tristan couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting back to that neon green scarf.

“Uh hi, can I help you?” He said after what felt like an awkwardly long time.

She loosed the scarf around her neck more and smiled. “Yeah, sorry I know you close in a few minutes. I just wanted to inquire about the room for rent on the sign outside. Is it still available?”

Tristan threw the paper towel that he’d been rolling between his fingers mindlessly in the trash can behind him. “Oh, yes it is actually.” Tristan lived alone in the large apartment above the deli, as he had his whole life. With his father gone, he decided to try to rent out his old room. It was not something he really wanted to deal with that evening though. He sighed inwardly but made eye contact with the woman. “I can give ya a quick tour if you want.”

“If it isn’t too much trouble that would be great.” She brushed her wavy brown hair back out her face. “I haven’t had much luck, there’s like no vacancy in this town. I swear I don’t require much!”

Tristan came out from behind the counter to join the woman and extended his hand towards her. “My name is Tristan Lenderson.”

She shook his hand firmly and smiled slightly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gina.”

He took her to the front of the building to a door next to the door of the deli which lead to a staircase to the second floor. “You’d have a private bed and bathroom, kitchen and living area would be shared with me. There is a microwave and dorm style fridge already in the bedroom though.” He explained as he showed her to the room and opened the door for her to go in.

She had a quick look around and came back out. “Looks nice and clean. Say, how firm are you on what you’re asking for rent?”  

Tristan rubbed his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Depends I guess.”

Her glanced dropped to the floor. “I don’t have a lot of cash at the moment.” She looked up again. “I left my abusive partner about a year ago, been around, living out of my car for the most part, trying to get back up on my feet. But it’s been really rough lately.”

She held up her hands, palms facing him. “Now hear me, I’m no freeloader. I can pass a drug test. I can give you references. I’ve already put in several job applications here.  I’m also handy with tools, I learn quick. If you need a job done or anything, I’ll do it. Try me.”  

Tristan pinched at his chin again and thought about what to say. Normally he wasn’t one to take kindly to sob stories. But there was something about this Gina character that he just couldn’t quite put a finger on. Part of him said to tell her no, in this day and age, he was probably about to get scammed or something. Still, he felt his heart strangely soften towards her.

“Hmm…have you ever worked in a deli before, Gina?”

She shrugged. “No, but I’ve done time in fast food.”

He nodded. “Here’s my thought. I could really use some help around the deli, it’s just me here since my dad passed but I can’t afford to pay a ton. Especially since that new yuppie deli came in uptown with all their stupid vegan cheeses and whatever…my business has really suffered. If you help me out a few hours here and there, pay me what you can for rent. How does that sound? You can think about if you want, I’ll be here.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you!” She smiled. “I’m happy to help out in your shop, whatever you need.”

He shut the door to the bedroom and stepped back towards his main kitchen area. “Alright, I’ll type up an agreement for us so we’re all clear on the details. I’ll have it ready by morning. See you then?”

“Sounds like a plan, thank you again,” said Gina. They shook hands again and she left.

Once alone he shook his head and sighed. Tristan wasn’t sure that this was his wisest idea ever. “Well, let’s see how this goes.”

###

Gina did show up as planned the next day, they signed paperwork, settled up, and she had her meager belongings all moved in before Tristan finished up in the Deli that evening. He didn’t see that much of her over the weekend, but they exchanged a few friendly words whenever their paths crossed. So far so good… she seemed quiet and trouble free.

On Sunday night, Tristan walked into his kitchen and on his kitchen table was that neon green scarf with a note card attached to it.

Dear Tristan,

Thank you again for letting me move in to your home. I appreciate it more than words can say. I also noticed that you just couldn’t take your eyes off my green scarf when we first met! I though you must like it! I just had to give it to you as a gift. I hope you enjoy it, I hand made it myself.

Regards, Gina

Tristan felt excess warmth flushing his cheeks. Oh no, was my staring really that obvious? He picked up the scarf and shook his head. Okay, he also had to laugh just a bit.

He hated the color actually. It was so bright, so loud, and so uncalled for. It honestly hurt his head just to look at the thing. But, he tucked it away in his front hall closet, scribbled out a note thanking Gina for the beautiful scarf, and tacked it to her bedroom door.

Luckily, the weather had shifted majorly from the unseasonable cold for April that it was the other day, to unseasonably warm. There would be no reason to wear scarves of any type until the next winter hopefully, and certainly not obnoxious ones!

Monday morning rolled in and Gina met Tristan in the deli at 9am as planned to learn the ropes of the establishment. Immense relief came over Tristan when the pants she chose that day were not patched with duct tape. Another bullet dodged in his personal opinion.

“So that’s basically what I do every morning here,” Tristan said as he finished going through his opening procedures with her. He wiped his hands on his apron. “Any questions?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not really, it’s pretty straight forward.” She turned away from him and appeared to be looking around at the walls and ceiling, especially over in the seating area where people would eat their sandwiches. “It sure is plain Jane in here though. No frills, fuss or bother, huh?”

He shrugged. “Always been like that and I like it. Yeah, it hasn’t changed much in over twenty years but it still meets code. As long as the health inspector is happy,” he paused and pointed at himself, “then this guy is happy. And that’s all I really care about now.”

“Fair enough.” Gina crossed her arms in front of her. “Its just…so much white and beige and brown and gray in here. Sorry to be a critic, but it just feels grumpy to me. Unless using decorations and other colors are against your religion or something?

He squinted at her. “No, I’m not very religious these days. Don’t have time for that nonsense.” He quickly realized that might not have been the right thing to say. “I-I mean no offense if you are or anything.”

She waved her hand at him as if to dismiss his concern. “None taken, I understand.” She paused for a moment and they made eye contact again. “I used to think like that.” 

He didn’t say anything else. She took a rag and spray bottle and began to wipe down a smudged window over in the corner of the room. Tristan went behind the counter and had his back turned to Gina who continued to work out in the seating area.

“Hey, looks like you were gonna paint at some point.” Gina’s voice broke the silence, startling Tristan a little.

Huh, what are you talking about?

He turned around to face her again. She held up a paint sample card to show him. He then notice that there were several more cards of different hues in a line, tucked behind the wood molding strip that created the border between the wood panels on the lower part of the wall and the painted part on the upper section.

His mouth hung open a little as he realized. Those paint cards had literally been there for years, he totally forgot they were even there. Talk about embarrassing. Gina picked up blue card. “Now this one I really like.”

“Oh those,” Tristan said, taking off his ball cap to scratch an itch on his head. “Yeah, my mom wanted to repaint in here- at one time…”

The skin on the back of his neck began to prickle and feel hot. He swallowed hard, this was not a topic he had wanted to get brought up.

She nodded slowly and replaced all the fading samples. “What happened?”

Tristan squirmed. He was not prepared to go there. He didn’t want to talk about this now or ever. “Uh, we just didn’t get around to it. That’s all.” He wasn’t exactly sure if his tone sounded rude or upset, but he felt bad about how he answered.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Gina replied, her gaze dropped to the floor. “Just curious.”

They both went back to work and didn’t say much to each other for the rest of the day. A cloud of awkwardness hung in the air for Tristan. He imagined it probably wasn’t much better for her either, but he had no idea how to fix it in that moment.

Gina was a good help to Tristan as the week went on. But she still wasn’t much for talking. He tried to give her space. Didn’t she say she was in an abusive relationship before?

Maybe I’m making her uncomfortable. Maybe she thinks I’m mad at her for asking about paint. I’m not, but maybe I’m acting like it. Tristan didn’t know how to deal with these sorts of things. He’d never had much luck with girls anyway.

While he was grateful for the extra hands, business at the deli continued to drop to discouraging levels that week. At the end of the day on Friday, Tristan and Gina closed up shop as usual. Gina disappeared up to her room. Tristan grabbed a beer and a pack of cigarettes and headed towards the back door of the deli to try to de-stress for a while. Something he’d done time and time again with his father. Except now it was only him.

It was still wonderfully warm out, almost tee-shirt weather. About the only positive thing Tristan could think of at the moment.   

The back door of the deli lead to an alleyway. Tristan sat on a set of crumbling brick steps and popped the top off his beer bottle. He had a stellar view of the garbage dumpster, some old rusted restaurant equipment that had been there since the deli’s first and only remodel in 1995, and an abandoned dentist’s chair…exact origins unknown.

Some time passed and Tristan grew drowsy. The sound of the door closing behind him jarred him awake. He looked over his shoulder. It was Gina, carrying something that looked like an old fashioned wooden picnic basket.

She looked startled to see him too. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were out here. Uh, I can go if you-“

“No, no, you don’t have to. Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to relax a bit.” He nodded to her. “Please, sit.”

She shrugged but sunk down onto the step as well. “Oh, alright.” She set her basket down on the asphalt ground beside her.

What in the world does she have in there? His curiosity was stoked.  

“Can I get you anything? A beer?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.”

He set his bottle down on the ground. “Sorry I never got into weed. If that’s what you’re after.”

She chuckled. “No problem, also not my jam.”

“Cool.” He replied. He nudged a piece of broken glass with his toe.

After a few moments of silence, Gina sighed and looked at him again. “Look Tristan, I’m sorry about what I said about your business and décor and all that other day. I had no place to say that. It was rude and you seemed upset. I’m really sorry.”

Tristan ran his tongue over his lips. “It’s okay. I’m not upset with you. Really.”

She cocked her head and looked at him sternly. “You sure?”

A lump rose in his throat, but he knew he had to tell her the truth. He stared ahead at the logo on the trash dumpster until his vision blurred. “We never repainted the walls because my mom left us.”

She nodded slowly, there was empathy in her pretty green eyes. “I’m sorry. I kind of had a feeling there was more.”

He sighed. “It was a long time ago. I was 14. She had an affair with a rich Italian guy and abandoned us to go marry him. It really wrecked my dad, he never got over it. It just about put him in an early grave.” Tristan shrugged. “But he buried himself in his work and pressed on anyway. He did the best he could.”

“That sucks pretty bad.” Gina said softly. “Looks like he wasn’t the only one wrecked.”

He squinted at her. “Meaning?”

“Oh you know the old saying, like father, like son.”

Her words stung a bit. He felt himself getting more emotional than he’d expected. But she wasn’t wrong. There he was, staring at the glowing end of a cigarette just like his dad would do.

He crushed it out against the ground. Again, he found himself with no good reply. When he looked back over at Gina again, she was opening her basket.

She pulled out a long wooden dowel that had a wood disk on it about three quarters of the way down the stick. There was a small metal hook at one end of the dowel. Atop the disk, sat a fluffy cone of brightly colored string of some sort that was wound around the stick.

Tristan was stumped. There he was, staring at this poor girl again and her strange gadget.

“Is that some kind of dreidel?” Tristan asked.

  She smiled. “No, this is a drop spindle.”

“A what?”

“Back in ancient times, before they invented spinning wheels, this was how people made yarn,” Gina said. “Watch.”

She took a fluffy bunch of brightly dyed multi colored fiber. It looked like a rainbow cloud. She unwound a length of yarn from the spindle and pulled out a tuft of the fluffy fiber and folded it around the end of the yarn and rolled it between her fingers a bit.

She stood up, gave the contraption a twist and let it fall in front of her. It continued to spin as she began pull and stretch the wool at the top, little by little as the rotation of the spindle turned the fibers into a thin tight chord. She gave it another twist and drafted out more wool. She repeated the process until the entire clump of wool disappeared into the yarn. She stopped and added the new yarn to her already existing cone.

“Wow, that’s neat. You’re good at that.” He honestly was fascinated.

“Thanks.” She said, grabbing more wool from her basket. “I have a regular spinning wheel too, but this has been my favorite for the last few years. I really love fiber arts. I’ve been from Boston to Seattle, going to fairs and festivals to teach drop spinning and to sell my yarns.”

“Wow, and now you’re here in nowhere Ohio, hanging out with the most boring guy to ever walk the earth. I’m so sorry.”

She snorted and laughed. “Oh stop it, I don’t think you’re boring.”

He just shook his head and blushed a little. “I don’t know about that.”

“I like traveling around, but it does get old.” Gina continued to spin while talking. “Of course my car is dying a slow painful death and I can’t afford to do much about it right now, so I figured it would be best to cool my jets for a bit and settle down. Plus these crazy gas prices. Got a few things to figure out before I turn 30 in another year, too.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Oh just stuff.”

“Right, same here I guess.” Tristan knew the feeling. This wasn’t exactly where he envisioned himself to be at age 27. He never really had a concrete plan to go out and cure diseases or anything, but his present reality wasn’t it either.

He changed the subject a little. He was actually enjoying getting to know this stranger more. “Where are you from originally?”

“The Adirondack mountains of New York State,” she replied. “A little town you wouldn’t know. My neighbors while I was growing up ran a mill where they took in raw wool from the sheep and cleaned it up to get it ready for spinning. That’s how I got into the wool thing. Beautiful country, but I had to get away and wander…at least for a while.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

She continued to make her yarn, making the process look effortless.

She glanced at him. “Do you ever get a day off from the deli?

He blew out a puff of air through his nostrils. “Hardly.”

She shook her head. “Seven days a week in there, yep that would wear anyone out. Shame nobody takes Sundays to actually slow down anymore.”

He sighed. “Yeah, well sometimes that’s just not an option.”

Their conversation dropped off again. Gina gave her spindle another twist. Tristan had to force himself to look away. He was mesmerized by her crafting, but he felt awkward because he couldn’t watch her work without making it appear like he was staring at her chest area. He wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything. But of course, the man he was also couldn’t ignore the natural feminine beauty she was well endowed with either.

“I-I sorry,” he blurted. “I’m not trying to stare at you or you know-“ Oh, now he was only making a bigger fool of himself by opening his mouth. Tristan shut it.

She chuckled slightly. “Oh chill, your fine.”

He leaned back against the step behind him and tried to do as she said. But the questions kept coming. “So is that like, relaxing to do?”

“I find it to be,” she replied. She stopped the spindle and ran the length of yarn she’d just made between her thumb and pointer finger. “I like to think that I’m taking the stress, worry, disappointment and pain of living from my soul and diffusing it out through my fingertips and into the yarn. At the end of the day, I have something lovely and functional. That sure beats hanging onto a bunch of trash that only weighs me down and makes me crazy.”

Tristan nodded. “That’s a very, uh, poetic way of putting it I guess. But good for you.”

Gina shrugged. “Everybody needs something, right?” She stopped stroking the yarn and pointed the spindle at him. “Would you like to have a try at it?”

He laughed. “Heh, yeah you make it look nice and easy. But I don’t know, I think it’s a trap.”

“It’s like anything, practice is key. But everybody has their first time and I promise I won’t laugh.” She gave him a funny look, it came across as a bit flirtatious in Tristan’s interpretation.

He couldn’t resist. “Fine, fine. I’ll give it a whirl…pun intended by the way.”

“Ha- ha, good one.” She secured the end of the yarn she just made to the top end of the spindle and handed it to Tristan. “Grab the end of the yarn with one hand and the spindle with the other. I’ll get you some wool. Got to keep it under tension or else the yarn will just unspin itself and break off.”

With his first twist, the thing spun so fast he didn’t have time to control the thickness of the yarn very well. His section of yarn was about three times thicker than Gina’s. His next try the yarn got way too thin, snapped off, and the spindle clattered to the ground.

He shook his head, growing heated with frustration and embarrassment. “See, yeah I’m failing. It figures.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, bud. It happens to everyone I teach. Took me many, many tries to get it myself, trust me.” 

He handed the whole contraption back to her. “Whatever you say, I’m just messing up your work now.”

“I know what, I’ll make you up your own spinning kit so you can practice on your own time,” Gina replied. “Sound good?”

He shrugged. “Sure why not?”

They both retired to their rooms for the night soon after. As Tristan laid down in his bed later, sleep just wouldn’t come. He felt strange.

Gina… he couldn’t stop thinking about her and the encounter they had that evening. Her strange but fascinating hobby. Her approach to life and thought provoking words. Her tasteful figure and kind eyes.

What had gotten into him? He couldn’t let himself fall for a woman. No, no, no Tristan. Romance is bullcrap. Only leads to trouble. You know that well. Think of something else…anything…something important!

He racked his brain for something to distract himself with. That ham shortage they’re predicting! Yes, now that’s a real worry. Focus. How will you keep your loyal customers happy when there is no ham to be found for miles around? What’s your strategy? What would Dad do?    

It was no use. He eventually drifted off to sleep while a movie of a girl making magic with some dyed animal hair behind his boring little shop played on repeat in his head.

###

A few weeks passed by quite swiftly. Gina picked up another job for part of the week and assisted Tristan in the deli on her off days. On one hand he looked forward to the days she helped him. On the other he dreaded it, because her charm had such a big effect on him. He had to work hard to not let it get to him and keep his poker face on.

It was hard to tell what exactly what Gina was all about anyway. Sometimes she’d strike up some small talk with the customers and Tristan. Most of the time she’d just work silently unless spoken to- apparently off in her own world somewhere.

That Saturday night the two of them were cleaning up the deli after a eventful day. Tristan hadn’t been that busy in quite a while so he was pleased, although the low stock of meat remaining for the following day was a bit of a concern.  

“So good news, Tristan,” said Gina randomly, turning her head in his direction as she scrubbed at some dishes in the sink.

He ran a knife through a blade sharpener. “Yeah? What is it?”

“So you know it’s the town spring festival in the park this weekend, right? Well anyway, I’m going to be doing some spinning demonstrations tomorrow evening. I’m pretty stoked, this is my first one in way too long now.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. Congrats Gina.” Tristan smiled at her. “I’m sure the people will love it.” 

“Yeah-“ her voice trailed off into a dreamy whisper. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me, I’d really like that.”

Oh no. Tristan stood stalk still. His hands began to sweat. Does she think he was interested in her? By her body language and tone in that moment, she sure seemed to hint at it.

“What’s wrong?” She smiled again. “Come on, it will be something different for you to do. You know you want to.”

“Well thanks for including me,” he said, nodding to her. “I might have something going on but maybe I can stop by.”

“Sweet.” She just smiled and plunged her hands back into the sink of dishes. “I’ll be there.”  

Well thanks to that invitation, Tristan turned into a nervous wreck for the next 24 hours. Ugh, why am I like this? He knew he should go to be polite. But he just couldn’t bring himself. If I change my mind, I’ll ask her out properly when I’m ready. I’m sure she’ll like that, right?

Sunday nights were usually hectic in the deli for Tristan. He had potato salad and the like to prep for Monday. People were more in the mood now for cold deli salads than they were a few weeks earlier when the weather was nasty. Devoting more time tomorrow to making extra only made sense. Yes, that was sensible…unlike the other “stuff” attempting to intrude his sound mind.

Business is important, Tristan. Get it right.

So that was exactly what he did. Tristan made potato salad alone.

Monday morning Gina texted him and said she wouldn’t be able to come to work that day. No reason given.

A twisty guilty feeling niggled at Tristan’s gut. She didn’t give a reason and he didn’t pry for one, but either way he began to regret last night’s decision. Maybe he didn’t get it right.

On Wednesday, the next day she usually worked, Gina didn’t show up at all. Tristan texted her but got no response. At lunch time he went up to his kitchen and found a note on the table, accompanied by a rather large wad of cash. Pressure rose in his chest as he read her handwriting:

Dear Tristan,

I’m sorry to leave like this but I have to be moving on. Thanks again for everything. Good luck with your business, I’m sure your dad is looking down and is proud of all your hard work.

God bless, Gina

Tristan just stared straight ahead. He dropped the note onto the floor from his shaking hands. Just like she came in, she was gone. That’s how it always goes.

I definitely should have gone to the park with her. For what? Some stupid potato salad. Stupid fool.

He gritted his teeth, dusted himself off and went back to work. Well he tried to go back to work. The truth was he couldn’t. That mysterious women…her aura still lingered in the air. He couldn’t explain it, but going back to the way he was before? Simply out of the question.

It was as if she’d unlocked a part of himself that had been long crusted over by bitterness and who knows what else. She somehow reminded Tristan of how he used to secretly love poetry and the finer artistic things of life. When he was a teen, he would tire quicker than most of the usual boyish activities of his classmates.

He could only take so much of their drinking, tobacco chewing, gun shooting, and pursuits of sexual passion. Sometimes he would sneak off to the poetry section of the library and read. Then he would check out CD’s of full operas, plug in his headphones and listen for hours and lose himself in the dramatic song-soaked stories.

Tristan once had a notebook of his own poems he had penned. Only now did he feel regret over trashing them all. He did that out of shame, when his father caught him writing once and half-jokingly said what he was doing was a waste of time. He could’ve been working instead.

While sitting and thinking that night, Tristan spotted the drop spindle kit that Gina had given him up on the bookshelf. After a little more mental debate, he gave in. Oh okay here goes nothing.

He got the box down and tried to remember what she showed him. He absolutely bombed and had more half spun broken off pieces of yarn on the floor than on his spindle for the first hour or so, but this time he didn’t give up. He finally caught on, found the groove, and spun yarn late into the night. Obnoxious color patterns and all.

This is my life to live. I haven’t done my own thing in far too long and it’s way overdue.  

###

After closing time one night, Tristan looked around at the dreary walls of his deli and sighed. Why did it take him so long to realize? It was as if time stopped at the door and refused to go on. Served him right for business to suffer.

Then he smiled and looked down at the stack of brand new paint sample cards that he held in his hands. So many options. He then picked up a new window poster and tacked it up on the front door with a message for the world to see:

Attention customers. Effective immediately, Lenderson’s Deli will be CLOSED for business on Sundays.

That Saturday night, Tristan got his paint brushes, rollers and primer ready to begin transforming the shop. It became apparent how eerily quiet it was in there. It wasn’t always that way.

When he was a kid, Mom and Dad would always have some sort of music playing. From entire Beethoven symphonies and operas, all the way up to current pop and rock hits, there was a good atmosphere. That was, until the day the silence crept in and the pigment faded from their lives.  

So he dusted off an old CD player and popped in a disk he hadn’t heard in over a decade. It made him feel a bit sad, but refreshed somehow at the same time. Then he painted the night away.

Soon enough, he actually began to enjoy coming to work again. Patrons most certainly noticed and complimented the changes too. Tristan felt more alive than he had in ages. He only wished Gina was there to see it. To see what she’d inspired by just stumbling through his door on an otherwise lackluster Thursday night.

The months began to pass by. Summer came to town, full throttle, followed by the gradual creep of autumn. One November afternoon during a break in the rush of customers, Tristan just so happened to check his phone. A message from a new unknown number. He tapped it to open and stood straight up when he realized. A warm giddy feeling that felt embarrassingly foreign to him flooded in. Is this for real? After all this time? The lengthy text read:

Hi Tristan,

This is Gina, you know that girl who lived with you for a while. Look, I’ve been feeling really bad lately about how I left that day without saying much. I should have just told you a long time ago, but I got scared and ran away. All I can say is sometimes the demons of your past come back to haunt you at the worst possible time. I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me. If not, I understand. No need to feel like you have to text me back.

Anyway, if you care, I’m out in Minneapolis now. I got a job teaching fiber arts at an art institute! It’s super parttime at the moment, but still I’m so happy. Who knows where it will lead. I really hope you’re doing well too and things are getting better.

Best, Gina

After he got over his initial disbelief, Tristan knew just what he had to do in response. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do and had no clue where the idea came from but it never felt more right.

Oh this was so not him. Not the guy he’d been for so long anyway. He shoved that thought away. It probably wouldn’t lead to a second chance with the woman, as she was miles away and allegedly happy. Nonetheless, it was to Tristan, in that lovesick part of his being, a teeny tiny sliver of hope that he just might see her again.

He couldn’t mess this up.

Upstairs in his home, he opened the door to the hall closet with trembling, sweaty hands. His heart skipped as his gaze fell on it, still draped over the coat hook on the back wall behind a spare work apron. That darn green scarf. His distaste for the color still remained, however he took it out and squeezed the soft material. It still smelled strongly of the flowery but earthy perfume she wore. He ached to see her.

He went to living room and sat cross-legged on the couch with the scarf draped over the arm and a notebook and pen in his lap. He needed to tell her exactly how he felt about her. About how she’d saved and changed his life. About how she spun color back into his existence. As cliché as it felt, he had to do it. He picked up his pen and began to draft a poem to send to her.

There once was a girl with a neon green scarf…

©2022 KL Storm