He’d sidled up to her in the busy street. There, where everyone could see. And he’d tapped her on the shoulder and said her name, clear like a bell ringing, Minnie. Just her name, and she knew. And she snatched for breath, and her thoughts were rushing and stumbling in their haste, and she did not turn to him at first, but kept her eyes on the crossing signal, waiting for it to say it was safe to cross.
Then his hand reached down and took hers and it was cold and she heard him whispering, ‘Cold hands, warm heart’. And he laughed.
She was late for work, but she let herself be led by him. They walked to the park and she dared to look at him walking beside her. And it was him, the boy she had met almost ten years ago and the boy she had loved at first sight and for always. Not a thing was changed, except his hands were now cold, and they were smaller, she thought.
In the park they sat so close their legs touched and she could feel that it wasn’t just his hands that were cold. They sat in the sun and he tilted his head to the sky as if he was taking it all in, taking in the whole of the heavens. And he breathed deep, as deep as a baby when it is new and it takes its first howling breath.
‘Don’t you have anything to say?’ he said, without looking at her.
She shook her head and stared with her eyes fixed on some point before her. She stared at an old woman seated on the bench opposite, looking to know if the old woman could see the two of them sitting so close, Minnie and the boy she had loved all of ten years ago, the two of them sitting in the sun. And the shaking of Minnie’s head was a lie, for she had a hundred things she wanted to say and all of them questions.
He said something about the air, and the warm and the clean that it was, and he said it had been a long time and he said that he missed her. She closed her eyes, closed them against tears, and when she opened them again he was gone and she missed him and she swore against the shutting of her eyes.
The old woman opposite said she had seen no one.
Minnie didn’t go to work, but walked round and round the park, looking for him in all the small and large places he might be, listening for the tread of his foot on the path behind her or the whisper of his voice at her ear saying her name.
When the sun went down, as it did at the end of the day, and the dark stretched and filled all the green spaces, she returned home and she phoned her sister and she said that it had happened again. Like before. That he’d come up behind her, by surprise, and they’d gone to the park this time. And he’d said that he missed her.
Her sister said she would come right over. No, really, it was the least she could do. And no she didn’t believe in ghosts. But this was surely something else. Something to do with loss and grieving and not letting go. She would be right over, she said. She wanted to help.
Patricia Ann McNair 
He’d sidled up to her in the busy street. There, where everyone could see. And he’d tapped her on the shoulder and said her name, clear like a bell ringing, Minnie. Just her name, and she knew. And she snatched for breath, and her thoughts were rushing and stumbling in their haste, and she did not turn to him at first, but kept her eyes on the crossing signal, waiting for it to say it was safe to cross.
Then his hand reached down and took hers and it was cold and she heard him whispering, ‘Cold hands, warm heart’. And he laughed.
She was late for work, but she let herself be led by him. They walked to the park and she dared to look at him walking beside her. And it was him, the boy she had met almost ten years ago and the boy she had loved at first sight and for always. Not a thing was changed, except his hands were now cold, and they were smaller, she thought.
In the park they sat so close their legs touched and she could feel that it wasn’t just his hands that were cold. They sat in the sun and he tilted his head to the sky as if he was taking it all in, taking in the whole of the heavens. And he breathed deep, as deep as a baby when it is new and it takes its first howling breath.
‘Don’t you have anything to say?’ he said, without looking at her.
She shook her head and stared with her eyes fixed on some point before her. She stared at an old woman seated on the bench opposite, looking to know if the old woman could see the two of them sitting so close, Minnie and the boy she had loved all of ten years ago, the two of them sitting in the sun. And the shaking of Minnie’s head was a lie, for she had a hundred things she wanted to say and all of them questions.
He said something about the air, and the warm and the clean that it was, and he said it had been a long time and he said that he missed her. She closed her eyes, closed them against tears, and when she opened them again he was gone and she missed him and she swore against the shutting of her eyes.
The old woman opposite said she had seen no one.
Minnie didn’t go to work, but walked round and round the park, looking for him in all the small and large places he might be, listening for the tread of his foot on the path behind her or the whisper of his voice at her ear saying her name.
When the sun went down, as it did at the end of the day, and the dark stretched and filled all the green spaces, she returned home and she phoned her sister and she said that it had happened again. Like before. That he’d come up behind her, by surprise, and they’d gone to the park this time. And he’d said that he missed her.
Her sister said she would come right over. No, really, it was the least she could do. And no she didn’t believe in ghosts. But this was surely something else. Something to do with loss and grieving and not letting go. She would be right over, she said. She wanted to help.