The Shortest Distance Between Two Places
By Melissa Ostrom
Posted on
Near the bridge, one leaves Jack’s Java.
Three blocks down, on the opposite side of Main, another exits Alma Books.
The two approach each other under a patchy sky, where blue tears whole swaths of winter from March. They notice: black hair wind-raised in a question mark, sunlight winking off a silver buckle, brown blazer, turned gaze, one’s loose gait, another’s briskness.
Passing cars interrupt the observations. Storefront windows darkly double them.
They appreciate. They dwell. There is much to like.
This could be fate.
One wants to stage an encounter, pretend a sudden street crossing is part of the afternoon’s agenda. But then what? How to bring about more than a nod, hello, and backward glance?
The other wonders the same, rapidly weighs which possession (phone, book, gloves) can suffer a timely plunge to the sidewalk and warrant a halt, exchange, closer inspection.…
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