The day after Valentines Day

On a Wednesday morning, right after Valentines Day, I began to reverse my car out of my driveway. But my way was blocked by a cherry picker.

This was unusual.

‘Is that the river?’ asked the driver pointing behind me.

‘No, it’s the creek,’ I answered not knowing if the creek was actually part of the river.

‘I’m looking for Waterhaven Street,’ he asked from a grizzled face.

‘This is Millstream Avenue,’ I answered wishing I could be more helpful with my bodies of water generally.

 But geography has never been my strong point and I get the feeling I will never bother to learn this area.

Then there’s traffic. Eighteen minutes to get to the station and I’m half way up the car park as I watch the train pull away.

Our train.

And I know he’ll be left with the doubt on whether I really tried to get to it. To join him and his daughter. The more difficult of the two daughters.

But I did try and was sorry I wouldn’t get to see his face again this morning and kiss his lips goodbye and see his love for me shine from his sad eyes.

And sorry not to see her often-sulky face smile at me.

Because she does like me a bit. As I do her.


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