Husk

Short dabble I wrote on a slow day at work

“Hello, how are you today?”

The question was posed with savage apathy, a shield flung up between her and I. I knew in that moment, even the tenderest kindness would not reach her.

“Fine thanks, you?” 

I offer a small, encouraging smile. She bared her teeth in a grimace in response, and her eyes reflected my attempts back at me with a dull sheen. It was gone just as quickly, and she ducked her head to forestall any further attempts at conversation. 

She was quick. By the time I realized she’d stopped moving, she was staring at me, her gaze sparking with impatience behind the glossy veneer of hospitality. She totalled my order, and waited as I paid. Handing me the last of my bags, she grimaced again, tight-lipped and grave.

“Have a good weekend.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she had already forgotten my existence, her attention turned to the next in line.

“Hello, how are you today?”

---

I saw her again a few days later. I nearly passed her by; so different did she appear, I thought her another person entirely. Amazed, I was, to recognize her at all; the creature I had glimpsed those days before was but a shell, a mere husk of the woman who walked by now.

Vivacity exuded from every pore. Twinkling eyes gazed upon a child bearing her likeness with adoration so raw, I felt as though I were trespassing. Laughter came easily to her lips as she lifted the child up onto her hip and carried him across the street.

Happenstance had her turn and look at me, and something in my countenance made her turn the radiance of her smile upon me.

“Good evening,” She said, an impulse not so easily controlled, even now. 

“Good evening,” I replied.

And she continued on her way.