Fiction - The Walk

The day I died was sunny.

It was a Wednesday. I'd gone to work as usual.

That is to say; I woke before the alarm but refused to get up and out and on with my day for as long as my bladder allowed. I don't eat at home. I get up. I dress. I leave.

I don't really wake up properly until I am at work. Until I have had a cup of coffee and have had to respond to morning greetings from other staff. Like a golem who only responds to outside pressures. A fitting descripton of my whole life really.

Pro-active is not a buzz word I could in all honesty apply to myself. I think that's why I have always hated that word so much. I think it neatly encapsulates and reflects all my inadequacies. I am like water. I just flow around and away.

I was coming back from picking up a sandwich for lunch. I can get them downstairs at work. There is a little shop there. I usually do that. Take as little time as possible, so I can get back to my desk and my computer.

I felt like going for a walk. It's been so cold lately.

It was only 17 degrees outside, but the sun was out. I feel like I get sun starved over the winter. Closed in by the shadows off the buildings. Overcast sky. Cold.

I always get sunburnt the first couple of weeks after the sun comes out again. I tell myself each time – don't be an idiot this year. Then the weather breaks and the sunshines and its warm enough I can force myself to ignore how cold the wind is.

I was born to warmer climes.

I heard the yelling first. From up ahead. There was a change in crowd flow.

There was no secret to the trouble. It didn't come on me by surprise. It was out in the open for everybody to ignore. A man and woman arguing.

A domestic always seems so shocking to me. I was not brought up to be so uninhibited. Fighting is for at home. Behind closed doors.

They had a little girl with them. Her hair wasn't brushed.

I'm not sure what they were arguing about. There was so much coming at me. The man with another woman. Something about money owed. The only violence verbal. The man was the calmer of the two, but there was an edge to him. The woman completely out of control.

The little girl, shoulder raised by the mother and dragged with her whenever she stormed away only to come back. The man trying to illicit sympathy from passerbys. Slouched against the wall. No one made eye contact. I don't quite have the knack of that. Small town upbringing. Say good morning and nod to everybody you pass.

I didn't do that though. I am not completely stupid. It was just eye contact and then I looked away.

He talked at me. What was he to do? He had no money until pension day. The woman rounded on me. I don't know what she said. I didn't take it in. She was standing so close. Eyes wild. So close to my face. Spitting as she screamed. You and your bitches. She had let go of the little girl's arm. I held empty palms up. Shoulders shrugged. My body saying “I am not involved” “This has nothing to do with me”. I didn't even speak. I didn't know what to say.

It was such a little thing.

Eye contact and a push. She pushed me and I fell. I wasn't expecting it. Who expects something like that? We don't even hug much in my family. Step in to shake hands. Personal space. She pushed me and I fell. My head hit the kerb.

Such a little thing.

If I were more than a shadow, more than just a memory amongst the buildings shadows - I'd wonder. Wonder what happened to them. Did I make any difference to them? Does the little girl know what happened? Does she know I died?

Or am I little thing. A forgotten thing. Just a woman who fell.

Did I ever matter?