Her Coat Was Red

I don’t think I have ever seen anyone like her. She stopped me like a 67 rusty blue Impala at 45 miles per hour across a deserted parking lot at dusk. My bag fell from my shoulder as I slumped back into the chair. I grabbed my wilting paper coffee cup just to have something to hold onto.

Her smile was unlike any expression I have ever seen on a human being before. Her eyes were kinder to me than that old fat nun when I was a nine-year-old pudge-pot getting kicked around by the sixth-graders.

Her mouth moved with gentle grace when she spoke. When I got past my fear and actually let her speak. I was afraid if I stopped talking, she would vanish in the night like the name to that obscure song that you can’t quite reach, but you can’t let go of either.

Her hair fall across her shoulders encouraging me to relax and enjoy the coffee and the conversation. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and I couldn’t look to long. My tired head spun like a used Maytag on dirty towel day. The safest place to focus was the papers in shaking hands.

Her coat was red.

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