Crane

Normally, he’d have gone to meet her.

That was partly because he loved her, though he wasn’t aware of that yet, but also because he was a creature of habit. The same walk into town, the same spot in his favourite padded booth at the restaurant, the same bench shaded by a canopy of trees that reflected patterns of ambers and greens along the moving river. Even better if these things were shared with her.

The reason he didn’t go was that he was a little stoned. It made the computer game he was playing more interesting, the colours more vivid, the imaginary worlds where he could conjure up roles and always be the hero, more absorbing. For as long as he could remember, he’d enjoyed disappearing into games. They gave him amazing fantasy spaces where he could escape the messy everyday stuff of dealing with real people and complicated situations.

She told him she felt like that too sometimes, but with her it was disappearing into books.

If he was really honest, he was also a little worried about how she’d be if he did go. He wasn’t sure what was going on with her since the last time they’d met. He sensed anger or upset, maybe both. She’d once said he had no idea what life was about. At the time, he’d laughed it off. Later, some part of him, which he immediately dismissed, wondered if she was right. He’d meant to ring her to ask. His fingers had hovered back and forth, but in the end, he hadn’t. There was always a reason to wait.

Those same fingers suddenly stopped moving and he checked the phone that at times had been his lifeline. No messages or calls. It was exactly 2:30 pm. Unless something had cropped up at work, she’d be well into her break by now. She, too, was a creature of habit and tended to take her breaks at set times. He looked out of his living room window. The sun had gone behind a murky cloud, turning the sky grey. Pylons were creaking in the wind.

Most likely, she’d be sitting in her usual spot in the library. She only headed out to the park if the sun was shining; she was no lover of the cold.

The best times were when he joined her. They would sit beside the river and watch the antics of the ducks or swans, or whatever attracted their curiosity. Once it had been a snake, its head sticking out of the water, moving at a speed which surprised them both. Another time they had spotted what they thought was a crane flying overhead, though it was more likely a heron. Grey-headed, with long legs stretched out behind it, making a harsh, guttural call.

He missed her acutely. 

At precisely 2:35, he got a strange feeling like someone walking over his grave. Involuntarily, he shivered. Something curled up inside him, and the familiar depression returned. He wished she was with him. Not that she could stop his low mental state—no one could do that—but she had the ability to ease his dark thoughts, to keep his mind from dipping further.

She was indeed in the library; having done a little shopping, she was running later than usual. On her way in, she had noticed progress at the nearby entertainment centre. They had been working on improving the building for nearly two years, a timeframe much remarked on by the townspeople.

While a huge crane lifted a large piece of metal high into the sky, she sat in one of the hideaway seats. Not reading, but staring down at the glowing, blank screen of her phone, waiting for a notification that didn't come. She tried not to think of him, but it was almost impossible. For so many years he’d formed the fabric of her life. She had tried so hard to understand. He had layered her most important memories. For her, it had never been just a friendship, though she constantly tried to tell herself that was all it was. All it could ever be.

In the alcove, she uncrossed her legs to get more comfortable on the blue seat. She longed to tip back her head and close her eyes. Not that it would have mattered, but she was within view of the senior librarian. She dealt with him in her work, and appearances mattered. 

Then she noticed a book she’d been meaning to read for months sitting on the shelf opposite. A thick, sun-faded hardback with a damaged spine. She was surprised to see it sitting there in that condition. Maybe they would add it to the rack of books selling at cheap prices. She would have to ask. 

Apart from the occasional hushed voice of library staff and visitors, the only sound was the intermittent tapping of fingers on keyboards. That, and the distant rumble of construction now building up outside. 

Two days later, he texted her, but there was no reply. That was unlike her. She usually replied within the hour unless she was away. He brought up the number that had become as familiar as the criss-crosses on his palm, was on the verge of calling, but held back. His habit of waiting kicked in again; he figured she was annoyed with him, and there was always tomorrow.

That’s what he’d do. He would try again tomorrow.

The next day, he heard about the crane.

He was heading into town when someone he had no wish to talk to stopped him along the well-trodden footpath. "Have you heard what happened at the library?"

He hadn’t been out of the house for two days except for a brief visit to the local store to top up on bread and coffee. 

He stood there like a ghost while the man explained that one of the operators had lost control of the heavy machinery. Something had given way, sending it collapsing through the library roof. Two or three people had been badly injured. One fatally.

His stomach clenched into a hard, unendurable knot.

Tomorrow had finally run out.

“Who was it?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

Then he found himself walking towards the part of the river that had always felt like it belonged only to them.