The Shining Specter

              On the street it was chilly, a shroud of coldness was the nipping air.  With the exception of the glow from the streetlamps, darkness was everywhere, in every corner, in every crevice.  It was the time of the late hour, when remoteness reigns and the reverie of rustling leaves was life's only recognition.
         Appearing onto the blank walkway was a couple, a man and a woman.  With the man following closely, the woman walked onward in a regular, soldierly pattern.  A walk of purpose it was, and the expression on her face -forehead tense and solemn, eyes that were dark and unmoving, her smartly curved chin sternly set- eerily matched.  It was the expression of hurt, a pain caused by the one she loved.
         The man looked on as he trailed her, softly babbling a few words of remorse here and there.  He could see that she was cold; her slim frame was clothe in a dress and high-heel shoes, both coloured black and both very chic.  Her naked flesh pleaded for warmth, though amasingly she did not shiver, unlike himself, now carrying his brown coat in hand, hopelessly wishing that she would take it for herself.  Earlier, he had offered his coat to her for comfort against the cold, but she had turned him down by ignoring his presentment.  She was too hurt by him.
         "I really didn't mean it, I am truly sorry Lyn," said the man with all of the sincerity he could muster.
         She walked on, not even flinching to the slightest scale to his latest request for forgiveness.  The clipping clacks emanating from her heels were ominous tolls.  Drowning evermore in futility, he thought it all over to himself.  He and Lyn had had it out before and had made up, but why was it so different this time?  He knew what had happened was very painful to her and it was his fault fully.  But what was between them, their passion, was enough to allow her to let this pass.  Yet it wasn't, and his worry grew.
         Behind them a car turned a corner and was coming up fast.  Its engine's wild hum distracted him and he turned around and looked over at it.  It was a taxi, and as it passed, he could see that the driver had no intention of picking up any fares.  When he turned around he spotted Lyn sneaking a look at the speeding cab, her head slightly slanted in its direction.  Feeling his eyes on her, she snatched her head back quickly in that previous, staid position.  She wanted to turn around, but she wouldn't allow herself to, he told himself.  She wanted to embrace him, encircle her arms around him, and squeeze him with the fullest strength her body would warrant.  But no, she couldn't do that.  Only the sound of the routined clack, clack, clack from her heels was coming to him, the rhapsody seemingly having her locked in this trance of rejection.
         "Can we at least talk about this?  I mean, what do you want me to do?" he tried again, defeat looming large in his voice.  Again she paid him no mind, only progressing along on the vapid concrete walk.  He scratched his hairless chin, though he had no itch.  He couldn't keep his hands still.  And as Lyn continued to shut him out, he found it increasingly difficult to do so.  Pretty soon he was rubbing the dark hollows of his eyes, running his fingers through his dark hair, slowly creasing the edges of his shouldered coat.
         The shadows were becoming even more pronounced and the air tinged a bit more icy.  Besides them, nothing moved.  There were neither cats prowling nor birds fluttering, no drips of waters, no tumbling twigs.  Only the man and the woman.  And even they were isolated.
         Another cab had turned the corner and now came up the street, only this time more slowly, at the regular speed.  And this time the man didn't turn around to acknowledge it, too busy staring at her, and staring at his fear that he had lost her.  She shifted slightly and erected her arm.  Initially his spirits brightened, but tangibility once again set up when the taxi came into his view, and once it stopped at the curb, he knew that it was all over.  He tried to say something, but nothing came.  Too many volleys had dented his confidence.  He never knew it would come to this.  His eyes watered and all that cracked out of his open mouth was, "Lyn?"  Its tone desperate, its meaning mournful.
         She finally turned and faced him.  Her eyes were nothing like the blazing orbitals they were when this had all begun.  Now they were eyes that gave him compassion as they looked into his.  A singular tear dropped down from his dark circle and slowly rolled down his face.  Lyn put her finger to the right of his nose.  It was a warm finger and it not only set his mind at ease, it gave him great comfort in this terrible chill.  She then traced her finger over to the tear and mashed it down, ending its journey.  Taking her finger away, she opened the door of the cab, and disappeared into its inside darkness.  The cabbie pulled onto the street and stepped on the gas, firing a storm of exhaustion in the man's direction and rollicking down the road.  Lyn was gone.
         The man was more confused now than ever before.  He frantically wondered: What did that mean?  Why did she do that?  Was that her way of easing my worry?  Or did that nick mean that it was all over?
         By now the taxi was long gone and only the drifting smoke told that it was ever there.  The man had resigned himself to leave the scene, but, before he could move he spotted a coin on the walk, shining brilliantly through the darkness of the twilight.  He picked it up -a quarter- and as it laid square in the palm of his hand, relief began to edge through him, his mouth with the formations of a smile.  It heated up his hand with the same kind of warmth he felt when he was touched by Lyn.  Again, he started his walk down the road.