The Town That Waited For Our Breath

The screen door swung shut behind her and the sound cracked something open that could not be closed again.

Her hand hovered in the empty space where his sleeve had been a moment before. The air smelled of dust and warm wood. Inside the house a clock ticked too loudly. Outside the yard lay open and bright as if nothing had happened. She stood on the porch and felt the leaving arrive before her feet moved. Whatever words might have followed her out stayed behind with him and learned how to be quiet.

She walked down the steps without turning. Gravel shifted under her shoes. At the gate she paused and then went on. The house did not call after her. The town did not either. It only watched and remembered.

When she came back years later the road felt narrower and more patient. Summer had settled deep into the fields. Heat shimmered above the asphalt. She drove with the windows down and let the air touch her face. The water tower rose ahead with its faded paint and familiar shape. The town had not waited for her. It had simply remained.

She parked near the square and stepped into the afternoon. The sound of cicadas filled the space between buildings. A delivery truck rumbled past. She stood for a moment letting the ground feel solid beneath her.

The hardware store door was propped open. She went in for no reason she could name. The smell of metal and wood wrapped around her. He stood at the counter sorting bolts into small trays. The movement of his hands slowed before he looked up.

You are back he said.

For a little while she answered.

His eyes searched her face as if checking something he had carried with him. He nodded once. The silence between them felt careful and weighted.

They stepped outside together. The afternoon light pressed down warm and heavy.

How long he asked.

Long enough she said.

He accepted that as if it were something he had practiced.

She walked to the edge of town that evening where the road dipped toward the fields. Wind moved through tall grass and made it lean together. She sat on the hood of her car and watched the sky change. The light softened. Colors deepened. She remembered standing here with him years ago counting the seconds between passing cars.

Footsteps approached and stopped. He leaned against the fence beside her. Neither of them spoke at first.

I never sold the place he said.

I know she replied. I always knew you wouldnt.

He smiled faintly and looked out at the fields.

I thought if I kept things the same you might find your way back.

She felt the weight of that hope and the care in it.

I left because I was afraid of staying small she said.

I stayed because I was afraid of losing you by asking you to stay he answered.

The truth settled without accusation. The fields held the sound of insects and wind.

The town gathered the next night for a dance in the old hall. Lights hung low and warm. Music played softly. She stood near the wall watching people she half remembered move with an ease she envied. He found her there and stood close enough that she felt the warmth of his arm.

They talked in fragments. Work. Weather. People who had gone and those who had not. When a slow song began couples moved closer. They did not.

Do you ever wonder he began.

Every day she said.

The music filled the space they left empty.

On her last afternoon clouds gathered and the air cooled. She packed slowly and then walked without direction until she found herself back at the house where she had once closed the screen door. The porch looked smaller. The paint more worn. She stood there with her hands folded.

He came from around the side as if he had been waiting nearby.

I am leaving tomorrow she said.

I know he replied. I felt it.

They sat on the steps together. The sky darkened. A breeze moved through the trees.

I dont regret leaving she said. I regret how quiet I was about it.

I dont regret staying he said. I regret how little I asked.

They turned toward each other. He reached for her hand and she took it. The touch felt steady and complete. Not a promise. A recognition.

The evening deepened. When they stood the goodbye unfolded slowly and without hurry. He walked her to her car and stopped a few steps away.

Safe travels he said.

Thank you for waiting she answered.

She drove away at dawn. The town lay quiet and open. She did not look back right away. When she did the road curved gently out of sight. The town did not call after her. It simply held its breath and then let it go carrying what had been and what would remain.