Flash Fiction - Traveler


(photo by Kimberly B. Richardson)
 

It had been three months since I last saw her. My friend, the one who seemingly understood my nature. When I hugged her, it felt as though she'd never left. She welcomed me into her warehouse apartment, decorated in a style that mingled quiet modern with fantastic bohemian. Flashes of colour flew around the brick walls while soft neutrals lingered in the corners, not wishing to be acknowledged. We sat down to a pot of green tea she had picked up in Paris, plus a plate of pistachio macarons. When I looked into her eyes as she talked about her latest adventure, I felt pure and good-natured envy. I wanted to pack up a tattered suitcase and set off for the world like she had done. I wanted to visit the bookstores that were older than time, drink tea in cafes, and take photos of cultures that lingered on the dreamlike. Instead, I sipped my tea like a good little suppressed man and listened. And listened. And listened. She spoke of how she spent a full day in a late 1700s house with only a block of cheese and a loaf of garlic bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She talked about the bookstore she found in London that carried the one book she'd been searching for for years. She also told me of a woman with long red hair and fierce green eyes who played the violin near a metro stop. According to my friend, she played Vivalvi as though she was friends with the Red Priest. When at last our time was over, I brushed imaginary crumbs from my jeans, gave my friend a long hug, and then left her place to return to my dreary home. I walked into my living room with its white walls that spoke of nothing and sat in my chair. I stared at my feet for eons. I realized that I could never be like her. I then closed my eyes, only to open them again and find myself right where I had left off - in a small restaurant in Rome. I looked down at the table to find my journal still opened to the page where I had begun a short story. My half-eaten bowl of pasta sat near my arm, waiting for me. I smiled to myself as I thought - a dream can surely tell a different future.  


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