A Gentle Habit

It was September and Vancouver had slipped out from under the hazy gauze that coiled tightly around the summer nights. He burst out of the bottom door and onto the cracked sidewalk in front of Miranda, his t-shirt catching the sharp breeze, making him look like a skinny flying squirrel. He wanted to run directly into her, to push hard up against the length of her body and let her arms and resistance slow his momentum. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets like brake pads and tripped over his Converse trying to slow his walk to a casual pace.

As usual, his clumsiness made her laugh. She walked quickly to him and grabbed his elbow in her own so they became a human daisy chain taking up the whole width of the sidewalk.

"C'mon varmit, we have things to do. Time's a-wastin' and the day is almost over!" She walked with exaggerated steps, throwing her other arm out as she spoke, gesturing wildly at nothing. She looked like the maniacal gold miner she sounded like right now, stomping about in her heavy boots, the tall leather rumpled down to her ankles. Dylan's quiet nature sat nicely as a backdrop for her flashy personality, like black velvet behind a gold string pirate ship hung over a basement bar.

From A Gentle Habit by Cherie Dimaline 2015. Published by Kegedonce Press.