She had a slim, playful tail. In her right paw she carried a pink umbrella and on her left, she had a bracelet that reflected the sun. Her ears like radars moving about to the sounds of the market.
I had seen her before. Maybe many moons ago? There was a memory hidden in the back of my mind that wanted to reveal itself but kept failing to bring about.
Her fur so shiny and sleek. So dark that it shined like the stars up in the sky.
Where have I seen her? My heart raises as I follow her through the side street vendors. The smell of fresh fish, catnip and chicken inundates the senses. Then, the fresh spring breeze caressed the trees and brought a scent. I know that scent. Is that the smell of sweet lavender?
It brought back memories of when I was a small kitten, and I used to run across the lavender fields. My black and white fur would always smell like lavender for hours after playing. Me and my first love…
Wendolyn?
Without a moment of hesitation, I sprinted towards her. My two legs moved so fast upon the rocky paved road I thought I would fall. Was it her? Could it be her? It had been so long. While gasping for air, I lost my favorite top hat on my way to her. I stopped behind to glance at her without saying a word. I needed to take this moment and capture it. That delicate smell. Her sweet voice. She was buying a pink ribbon from a vendor. I was waiting for her to turn towards me so I could see her face.
I took a deep breath. My lips parted and I uttered her name. Wendolyn?
Time stopped. There was no breeze, no vendors shouting, no smells to capture, and her tail sat suspended in the air. A second became an eternity.
Her ears faced me before she turned to me. Her umbrella was now held with her bracelet hand, and on the other hand, a pink ribbon.
She looked confused. She looked at my fluffy white and black fur from head to toe. She uttered no words. Her green eyes slowly blinked in my direction, they twinkled like the sun reflects upon the river.
“I am sorry. I thought you were someone else” I sadly apologized. Disappointed I just stood there. She nodded with understanding.
Her back now to me, her lavender smell fading, and her bracelet no longer shines. She was now almost out of sight.
As she disappeared among the crowd of the market, so did the moment of her brief return.
Isabel Machuca-Morales
Isabel Morales was born in Chile, and lived as a child immigrant in Long Island, New York. She is currently working towards her BA in English and Creative Nonfiction Writing at Southern New Hampshire University.