(Written for Friday Fictioneers)Copyright – John Nixon

I no longer needed a watch. Standing in the doorway every day at 3 o’clock he’d become my personal time piece. Never coming in he’d only linger a moment before passing by. For years I tried talking to him, smiled, but he always looked right past me. A memory lost to some faraway place.

“Cheryl I’m heading to the bank. Store’s yours.”

“Wait a minute he’s coming back.”

What was different about today? Clair de Lune playing from the victrola just brought in.

Approaching, he tenderly enticed “May I have this dance?”

“I’d be delighted.” I replied taking his hand.

Word Count :100