Lissa Oshei - City Lights

The two women walked slowly down the street, brushing each other lightly, the ineluctability of parting pressing silently down on them. Their footsteps echoed lightly against the cold sidewalk.

“This is me,” the dark one said when they reached her ’97 white Toyota Corolla.

“Thanks for hanging out—I had a nice time,” the light-haired girl said. They stood, for a moment, letting the tenuous strands of intimacy unravel. The dark one looked up into the light-haired girl’s eyes, nearly a head taller.

“So…” her voice trailed off and her mouth quirked up into a half smile. She leaned in, seeking the light girl’s mouth.

The light girl turned her head slightly at the last minute, offering her cheek instead. She pulled away then, with a soft but firm look in her green eyes.

“It’s like that, is it?” the dark one asked softly.

“Yes,” the green-eyed girl said simply, looking down at the other girl’s boots. The dark one nodded, and looked over the light girl’s shoulder.

“Well, thanks then. I had a good time, too.”

She started away, toward her driver’s side door. The light girl watched as the dark one got into her car, gave a little wave and a barely perceptible nod. She started her car.

The light girl turned and, without a backward glance, headed for her apartment. As she strode down the dim lit L.A. street, she re-lived the amorous evening the two spent together. She smiled, well-fed though she hadn’t eaten in hours. She smiled into the night, upturning her face toward the sky, possibilities endless as the stars above, obscured though they were by the bright city lights wrapping around her solitude.