She turned a corner squeezing past men, women and children of all sizes and shapes, peering at the door numbers and trying to make sense of where she was supposed to be when bam; she collided headon into a striped red polo tee.
Ramming into people was taken for granted. After all it was a narrow corridor and a multitude of folks in a rush to go somewhere.
“Am sorry” she muttered for the hundredth time that morning, as she looked up into his face.
“It’s okay” he replied with a hint of an apologetic smile.
Shell shocked she gaped. Celluloid morphed into flesh. Tangible. Real. It was a version of him. The same eyes, the same tilt of the nose, the very same lips.
With a twist of bodies, each let the other pass. She stood rooted at the spot jostled impatiently by a teen and his very rude mother. Staring at the receding frame, she wondered if it was a blessing in disguise or a curse on her memory. The very face that she’d wanted blurred was now forcing itself into her mind. Like a crayon effect righting itself crystal clear.
For a brief moment she smiled in happiness. Maybe this was life’s freak vicarious adventure she was thrown into. Sending a hug across the corridor she knew one day it would reach him across the miles, and times.
Brothers hug, don’t they?