OVER AGAIN

VISION

The week without Tilda was the longest of Weston's life. There wasn't a moment the man's thoughts didn't run to her, even then as he sat on the bench, all the man could think of was her.

"It's been a while, Weston."

"Oh, Mr. Nichols, yes, it has."

"Aren't you shining bright? What's new? The senior asked. Mr. Nichols always happened to sit next to Weston when he wrote. As usual, Mr.Nichols fed the birds.

"New? Nothing."

"Oh, come on, Weston, we've been bench buddies for a few years now, you can tell me."

Weston didn't have anyone to confide in his secrets. The time spent with Tilda was surreal and magical. The man wanted to shout his joy to the world, but this instant telling Mr.Nichols was enough.

"I've met someone."

"Great, that's what life is about, son, treasure it," Mr.Nichols said while he patted Weston on the shoulder before getting up to leave. After taking a few steps, Mr. Nichols glanced back on Weston and said, "haven't you got somewhere to go?"

Weston automatically looked at his wrist," shit," he got up and ran only to stop after a few meters. He turned around to see where Mr. Nichols was. The older man was already far. How did he know Weston had somewhere to go?

The writer speeded to catch his train at King's Cross. Tilda was coming back the next day, and he needed to smooth a few things out with his parents before she arrived.

Tilda only texted twice while she was away. Once to say she missed him and another to sayㅡ.

Weston smiled to himself, "hurry and come back, woman," he mumbled, gently sweeping his lip with his finger. He quickly found his seat on the train, and he took out his laptop and began to type. Writing came easy, thanks to Tilda, who encouraged Weston to write to let his imagination run wild. She was beneficial for him in so many ways.

As usual, his parents waited on the train tracks. His mother waved as though Weston was a sailor coming back from a mission.

"Oh, see this one here, aren't you at the height of your beauty?" Alice said, pinching her son's cheeks.

"Hello, West."

"Please, don't call me that way, dad. It's confusing," Weston said.

"Remember what he said the last time. It makes him think of the American rapper, what's his name again, Canal West," Alice reminded her husband.

Weston muffled the laughter, which threatened to explode. He loved his mother too much to make fun of her error.

The Edmonds highly appreciated Weston's monthly visit. The nurse and the former professor were now retired and enjoying their days gardening and baking cakes.

They walked to the Velar Land Rover.

"Dad, aren't you driving?"

"Your mom says I'm reckless with her baby."

Weston's mother, Alice, loved cars, whereas her husband adored mountain bikes. Alice was talkative; she could knit a subject out of anything.

Observative, her husband Charles went straight to the point of avoiding unnecessary blabbering, as he called it.

Charles annoyed his wife, who complained. She would ask him for whom he was saving his words.

Alice turned on the radio and started the engine.

"You look terrific, Weston; you're glowing."

"Was he dull before?" Charles asked.

Alice shook her head, "no, I mean, look at him. Doesn't he seem blissful?"