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    "Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? / Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash? / My love, I swear by the air I breathe: / Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth." - Joanna Newsom, "Monkey & Bear".

    He does not have to question if she recognizes him or not. For a few moments he thinks she is debating turning on her heel and fleeing into the crowd. Then he watches her face transform from an uncertain young woman of twenty four, to something resembling the tenacious, take-no-prisoners ambulance driver who saved his life. She squares her shoulders, marches forward, suitcase in hand. Crams her hat under her armpit to free a hand to outstretch to him.

    “Mr. Shelby,” she says. Her gloves, he notes, are brand new, possibly the most expensive item on her, which isn’t saying much. Spotless white. His hands are clean, but he can’t help but feel he’s marring them all the same. “Thank you for the tickets. And the letter.”

    “Mrs. Shelby,” he says, which a better-humored man might have managed to make sound like a playful joke. At best, it sounds like a judge pronouncing a prison sentence. A life term.

    Language:
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    10 Jan 2023