Brandon + Lisa, Same Wind
Her hands rest open in her lap, palms up. She used to reach for his hand without thinking. She notices the reaching has stopped, the way you notice a clock has stopped only once you look for the time.
She doesn’t turn around. Turning around was always his exit, not hers.
Brandon:
His hands are knotted over one knee, holding on like that holding is the only thing keeping him upright. He used to be better at walking away clean. His body won’t cooperate this time.
He doesn’t turn around either. He tells himself there’s nothing left to say.
Both:
The wind moves through her hair first, then his, like it hasn’t decided whose story this is. Neither one is the villain. Neither one is without hurt. Neither one is finished growing. They just stopped growing toward each other.
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