I decided to try out the Weekly Writing Challenge.
“I tried to catch her, but I didn’t make it,” I told Steven in sharp, haggard breaths.
“Damnit, Cheryl, you said you’d be able to. What am I going to do?” He turned from me, hands on his head. I could tell he was upset. Who could blame him?
His apartment in the Bronx was damp and cold in the frigid winter. As he walked over to the small, bar lined window, I noticed how the gray sky was no different than his face: sad, solemn, lonely. Couldn’t this have happened on a better day?
“Do you know where she went?” head down, staring at the white sidewalk below, his voice cracked. I wanted desperately to fix this for him. But I couldn’t. Or could I?
I walked over to him, not sure what I would do next. My small hand decided on his back. Gently.
“I don’t, Steven. I’m sorry, there were too many people for me to see where she went. I’m really sorry.”
As his face turned toward me, I saw something I’d never seen in my friend before. Steven was 6’3″, muscular, a tough guy. But I saw a tear fall from his misty eyes.
I reached up with my free hand and gently brushed the tear away from his face. My hand stopped on the side of his face: my fingers reaching up by his ears, my palm along his jawbone.
Our eyes met, and his normally bright blue eyes looked icy. The warmth that normally radiated out of them gone.
“What am I going to do?” he mumbled.