She was a summer lover.
We shared a short romance.
I met her in a hallway as keys entered separate doors.
Shared cocktails, eventually led to more.
There was an easiness of manner about her.
She was almost ethereal.
Fine red hair, alabaster skin, a lithe, thin body...
and full lips which smiled broadly at me, when I amused her.
She was slightly older than I, and had a sister...
who no longer loved her husband.
We visited them, and blessed our good fortune.
One day, while driving to work, Joanne suffered a brain aneurysm.
She survived the crash, but died in the hospital the next day.
I never attended the wake or funeral.
At the very least, I owed her a few minutes of my time.
To celebrate her memory.
That fine red hair, that alabaster skin, and especially those full red lips...
which smiled at me, when I amused her.
I carry my sin of omission for all these years.
I pray to thee dear Joanne.
from "The Journey, Memoirs from a South Side Chicago kind of Guy"
available on Amazon.com.........Richard Cronborg