Regret perhaps

She was pushing the heavy glass door. It was difficult. I wanted to leave the shop as well so I leaned past her and pushed the door too. For me it was light. She held on to the door and it took her. She almost stumbled. She was out of the shop. So was I. She turned and looked at me and smiled.
“You nearly swept me off my feet,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.”I didn’t mean to.”
She smiled a different smile now and walked away.
Later in the morning I saw her sitting on the river bank near where the kingfishers play. I waved but she did not wave back. Perhaps she did not see me.

Jan is home on a Saturday night

Jan is home on a Saturday night. Again.

The doorbell rings. He had thought it might.

Open? Or not to open?

The audience he imagines and his hard-beating heart tell him to open.

So he does.

Life changes for the pale-blue better.

Or

Jan is home on a Saturday night. Again.

The doorbell rings. He had thought it might.

Open? Or not to open?

The audience he imagines and his hard-beating heart tell him to open.

But he doesn’t. He waits.

The doorbell rings again. He had thought it might.

Open? Or not to open?

Half the audience he imagines say yes, the others no. His heart beats hard.

The doorbell does not ring again.

Life changes for the pale-blue.

Or

Jan is home on a Saturday night. Again.

The doorbell rings. He had thought it might.

Open? Or not to open?

The audience he imagines and his hard-beating heart tell him to open.

But his head cautions him to wait.

To wait again.

And wonder why he had waited before. His heart beats.

The doorbell rings again. He had known it would.

Open? Or not to open?

Now the audience he imagines is silent, confused, though his heart still beats hard.

The audience he imagines leans forward, willing him to do one thing or another.

So he does what they want.

Life changes.