story / wet footprints

She left wet footprints with all 5 toes through her wet pink socks.

By the next station the prints had disappeared. Dried right into nothing, the stained matte surface of the metro floor.

She wore a purple sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her face was soft and doughy. He held her so closely, the boy next to her. His leather boots were huge next to her pink socks and the curve of small wet feet on a rainy night. His scratchy beard nestled into her hair, holding her face outward like a little moon, eyes brimming with tears.  The purple sweatpants were dirty, like she had fallen, scraped against something, and her lip was cut in a soft pink line. Barely noticeable but wet and skin-colored. She turned into him with her whole body but she didn’t avert her eyes, looking straight out the blasting dark window behind my head. I thought to give them $10 for cab fare, to get wherever they were going, so she wouldn’t have to walk in her pink socks.

But they stepped off the train at the next stop and just her footprints were left. All 5 toes were clear as a snow print. As they walked away, I watched her take his hand.

image courtesy of @yann_loeil

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