I’d said I probably wouldn’t make it.
He’d said he’d take that chance.
So there he is, shaking out his raincoat, searching for me, taking that chance.
And here am I, on the mezzanine, behind a potted palm,
not making it.
All those reasons he had for leaving my mother…
they were the same reasons for not leaving me behind.
He didn’t care that much then.
And nor do I now.
He’s waited 25 years to find out how things turned out for me.
I can wait that long again to let him know…
and probably then some.
Thanks once again to Rochelle for finding time in her busy life to launch Friday Fictioneers every week.