He had asked her to meet him at noon on
the bridge. She had said it was her favorite place, and noon was the
perfect time. The sun would shine directly overhead and its light would
kiss the water below and settle on it in a sheer film of iridescence.
She would sit cross-legged on the highest point of the bridge, and he
would sit across from her, watching her watch the water. The lilies
would blanket the pond, gliding across the surface to leave one cluster
and join another. They would stand up then, dust themselves off and lean
over the bridge to catch their reflections in the little spaces between
the lilies on the pond’s surface. Their faces would then linger on the
water, framed by the flowers, suspended on the water.

He arrived half an hour early, and sat on
the bridge, exactly as he had pictured it. At noon, the pond was far
lovelier than he had anticipated. He waited for her, keeping an eye on
the opening between the trees surrounding the pond, where she would
emerge from any minute now. He sat there for what seemed an eternity,
and then he stood up to get a better look. He leaned over the bridge and
craned his neck, stretching it as far as it would go.
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