November's Rent

She followed close behind him, the floor boards creaking as they made their way down the stairs of her apartment.

"I have meetings all day today," he said, mitigating the seriousness of their conversation. "Not looking forward to that at all."

She nodded, stopping to gaze out of the front door as he opened it.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Why are you looking like that?"

She was struck, suddenly and painfully, by the obvious:


Time is passing.


"It snowed," she said. "It snowed, and it's only November."

They looked at each other — and then away — and continued walking in silence, arms interlocked and feet kicking up bits of white dust. Elsewhere along the road, the remnants of an interrupted autumn dangled from the occasional limb.

"See you later?" he said, opening her car door.

"Yeah," she said, staring at the ground and clearing a circle with her feet.

She looked up.

"See you later."

She climbed in around him, started (and stopped) to kiss his cheek, and drove away.