Nothing left to say
TRISTAN RIVERS
They both still used the small park as a shortcut to get home. It was miraculous that they had never crossed paths earlier. Maybe they had but were unaware as the small forest of trees dividing the park in two may have kept them from seeing each other. There was only the sound of wind and the rhythmic squeak of the swings blowing back and forth in it. They could see each other through the tall wire fence containing the tennis court. They slowed and stared at each other forever, in a moment. They continued around the fence removing the barrier between them. The rust that caused the swings to break the silence of that October afternoon kept unofficial count of the years between them. Their eyes met.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” she said.
Their eyes turned away in unison as they continued down the concrete path that they had each taken every day past.
