Bittersweet

Bittersweet

The cold, clammy night restricted her view to a few yards in any direction except for the feeble glow of the streetlamp under which she stood. Tendrils of fog gradually crept in from the canal behind her. The only sound, the gentle lapping of water occasioned by some activity near the dilapidated warehouses downstream.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, her coat collar pulled up to ward off the cold. He was now twenty minutes late; it seemed like twenty years. Her nose was beginning to run and she could feel her face pinching up. Where is he? Has his wife found out? I’m not going to put up with this any longer.

Crying now, shoulders shaking, the tears mute testimony to her misery and frustration. She stiffened, tilting her head to catch a clicking and scratching of rats on the cobblestones near the factory wall.  The dank, musty night enveloped her like a funeral shroud, eroding her will. She felt faint and her legs began to tremble. I’m sick of meeting this way. I hate him; I never want to see him again! It can’t go on…I can’t go on.

The sound of running footsteps echoed off the walls of the old buildings. They seemed to be coming her way. Tortured gasps growing louder; he burst into view, hair disheveled and rivulets of sweat running into his shirt collar. They grabbed for each other   clinging desperately and swaying from side to side. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he sobbed. “I couldn’t get away and there was no way to reach you. You must have been terrified, all alone in this horrible area”.

“Nonsense,” she said, smiling brightly, “I’m made of sterner stuff than that — besides, there’s nothing in the world that would keep me from being with you.”

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