The Laugh. Part Two.

It was days later when she remembered that small moment again, and realized how so much had happened within her since that moment of clarity in the street when she and the young man had laughed together. At the thought of it, she held her breath in expectation. She looked around as she walked across the grassy high-school field, crunched frozen puddles down main for three blocks, and up the alley to the back door of the restaurant. Where had he come from? Would she meet him by chance like that again?

Reaching to the hook for her apron, she ties it mindlessly, smoothing down her hair, glancing in the greasy mirror, spying the streak of grey in her bangs. Yet, she feels she looks very fresh this morning. A smile creeps over her face and stays there as she turns on the lights, and sets out Tuesday's lunch menus on each table. Alone, she works quietly to open the restaurant. She is sitting with a coffee when John arrives for the day with some fresh ingredients. She goes to help him chop herbs, something she's only recently been volunteering to do. She takes a deep breath of the earthy, spicy smells as she wields the knife against the greenery, feeling glad to be alive.

All day as she serves customers by the big windows with the light, she talks to them less than usual, and listens more. It's this change that has come over her, and she knows she has less time, less words, less of her... but knowing this somehow offers the sense of more. At the end of the day, her hands are dry and rough against her jacket as she reaches for it from the hook. The wind blows her home, and she can smell spring on its heels.