Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
“I’ve been here 26 years,” a crab catcher tells the woman in the bulky navy coat. She’d been sitting in her car, watching the crabbing, perhaps waiting on one of the yellow-rain-coated men on the dock. A minute ago she exited to have a cigarette and take in the fresh air. This man advanced upon her like the flapping seagulls when the crab traps were raised. “I like those spots over there, I think it’s deeper on that side of the dock.” He wears his wallet on a chain, paint and seawater dapple his grey sweatshirt. He wears his brown hair long, coiling rather neatly from under his blue baseball cap. He approached the woman on her right, so she saw his left profile in her periphery when they stared over the water. From that angle, she couldn’t see the giant neck tattoo on his right side.
He smokes and chats with her. She tucks her brown and scarf around her neck as the wind gusts her cigarette ashes away. He extends his hand, and she pushes up her glasses before accepting his handshake. “I’ll be out there on Saturday and, no, Saturday and Monday, in the morning. Sunday I’ll be busy.” He paints his social calendar and she nods.
When she turns to laugh at something he’s said, her age becomes clear. She is older than him by at least decade, perhaps two, and flattered and shy. “Nice meetin’ you,” he calls as he departs.
“You too, Mark…” She flips her feathered orange hair over her shoulder and takes a grinning gasp at the sea.