Marta (Part One)
It wasn’t until she was getting off the bus that I realized it was her. The way she delicately walked on her toes, rarely dropping a heel to the ground, was the biggest giveaway; but when she reached into her pocket and pulled out a package of cinnamon stick gum, I knew for sure. Most people opt for those minty squares you pop out of a metallic pack like birth control pills. But not Marta; she preferred the stale shit.

My stop wasn’t for a few more blocks, but I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her again. It had been over a year since she stopped responding to my texts and more time than I’d like to imagine since we spent a night together. I bet it was all just a big misunderstanding, though. Maybe she just needed time. I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical reason for all this. But what? 

I followed.

She wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until the sea of embarking 9-to-fivers went their separate ways that I noticed an older man in a dark brown leather jacket gently grab her elbow while crossing the street. Was he her father? I had never met her dad but I knew that he lived in the same city and liked to take Marta out to his favorite seafood restaurant on Thursdays sometimes. 

(…to be continued)