Helping Her Go (1)

“…She’s mostly there anyway
I’m just helping her go
How else will she get through the pain
Sayin’ the words that all girls need to hear
These ones are just for her ears
Let’s talk rain….”

Cressida. I wonder what her name means, he thought, looking Due North from his window at his new neighbor. 8pm, on the dot, he noted, loving the fact that he could predict when she leaves her apartment for her regular twilight walk.

When she’d introduced herself to him a few days earlier, he felt uncomfortable, but why was unclear. Now, studying her easy stroll, it dawned on him that he’d just been taken aback in the moment. It was the calm she had in her skin and the simplicity she wielded in sharing her smile. She, he noticed, laughed about the lousy weather that everyone else he’d encountered that day had only been willing to complain about. “I think,” he said to himself, “Cressida sounds Gaelic for “Soulmate.””

But nevermind, he reflected, heading back to his blank sheet music pages. I already have the best women in my life and there’s no more room. Still, her green eyes, it seemed, had silently searched him for help. Like they hadn’t exhaled in decades, possibly. And, maybe that simple smile was hiding some sadness over the rain after all.

Realizing it’s lunchtime already, his mind wandered nevertheless and he made another prediction: some day Cressida would ask him about lunch. Pen to paper and hearing the silent, he decided to help her along….

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