Mercer Street

‘Surely,’ I think to myself, ‘If you walk down the same street enough times, the memory fades, supplanted by new experiences, new moments to treasure, memories that don’t tug at my heart and remind me of him.’ But it hasn’t happened yet. This morning I passed an old lady, stepping out of my path so she didn’t have to. She looked up at me from under her headscarf and smiled a smile that was no bribe to sweeten a lonely, unspoken request for conversation. Neither did her eyes contain surreptitious need, in fact she asked nothing, just acknowledged my courtesy and in the smile I returned, our eyes met and a simple connection briefly formed.

I continued walking and hoped, when I reached her age, that I, also, would have managed my needs and lived a life that left me free to meet the gaze of strangers benevolently.

I recall that smile, that train of thought, as I walk down the street later that day but at the end of it, there he is, his memory constant in a way our relationship never was. ‘Surely,’ I think to myself, ‘If I walk down this street enough times…’