SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Thursday, Oct. 18, 2012 @ 9:10 am
Alexander



Morning. Skytrain. I glance out the window into a station. Familiar mop of curly, dark hair. Familiar deep set blue eyes. Familiar lean stance. My Alexander, from the mine?

The train is crowded. He pulls out his phone, and I look to his hands - yes, the iron ring is there. It is him. I'm sure of it now.

I study his shoes, his pants, his jacket. His hair even darker now that it is no longer coated in dust.

I remember him sitting at my desk in the trailer at the mine. His legs splayed in confidence, mud falling from his boots. His penetrating crystalline eyes. My girlish heart thumping loudly towards this verifiable Prince Charming, his attention focussed directly on me. And then later, in the cafeteria, side-by-side at the salad bar.

Of course, I do nothing. I stare at him and memorize the cut of his slacks. His attention focussed narrowly on his phone. We reach downtown, and the train is pushed cheek-to-jowel, and then I lose him. In the mele at the station, he disappears.

To savour these moments - these brief what-ifs - and the surprise of kismet. How life folds over on itself. How close we come to each other, in various places, and the strings of energy that link us all.


Roots | Shoots