yellow triangle, he thought that he could say this to her. But he was wrong. He couldn’t say anything.
He picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. He stared at the set as it brightened. A commercial for tennis shoes was on. He thought about running, but felt anchored.
She lifted her gaze, turned away from the papers; glanced at him and then at the TV. Then she went back to rustling her papers.
He noticed that as she had turned to look at him and at the TV, for just that brief instant; her black shoe had paused, mid swing. But now it had returned to its rhythmic swaying, inches above the taupe carpet.
He stared at the TV. She worked on her papers. The bright yellow sunlight triangle on the wall behind her began to dim and eventually faded to black.