Man, Women, and a Red Sweater: Exploring Point of Views

Day Nine: Point of View

Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.


I know I didn’t just cross Mrs. Steven’s path.

The grandmother of my ex.

After five years and all this time, why is the woman here? Out of all places! I clench my fists and try not to let Lettie know something is wrong.

But she knows.

She was born into a family of psychics and empaths  and from the moment I spotted Mrs. Stevens, her hands squeezed mine, like she does her little puddy ball when we are watching Law and Order.

And then I can’t help it. The images blob before me.

Beautiful Linda. My Linda. Her stomach round and stretched hard, a cocoon for our first child. A seed we made together. It would have been our first…but then.


The fatal car crash where I survived and they did. Not.

Mrs. Stevens is still knitting. Probably thinking we are just your normal park walkers in love and everything is right as rain.

Then the cloud burst from behind my eyes…



“Aren’t you going to speak to her?” I ask John. His palms are sweating and are those…those. “John. Are you crying?” I whisper.

“Let’s go over here for a minute,” I let him walk me in the opposite direction of the older, pale woman with white hair. Her fingers work quick magic on that little red sweater.

“There is something I haven’t told you.”

I am quiet.

John wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. I’ve known him a year but I never seen him shed a tear. Although at times while we’re at the beach. At home in our garden. Or when I ask him about starting a family, he’ll get this far away look and I fell alone…

And then those dreams I have of him with red hair and green eyes and there are children around him…

“I do know her. Well, she is the grandmother of my- my ex.”


Then John does something even I could not have predicted. He pulls out a stray cigarette and lighter and lights the end of it. “Linda was my girlfriend. I was going to marry her.” He takes a long drag on the cigarette.

“Okay,” I touch his hand. “Did something happen?”

His chocolate eyes peer into mine. “Yeah. She died. And our baby did too.”

I place a hand over my heart. I did not know! He told me he never wanted children. I guess I see why. But what horror! Now my eyes are misting.

We walk over to the old woman…


The Old Woman

Not now. Not that cologne. It can’t be! Only that mix of sweat and cologne and soap would make me remember…

“Kristina? Kristina Stevens?” John comes over to me looking as handsome as always. His eyes are sad and there is a young lady by his side. A raven haired beauty with cerulean eyes. Her hand is wrapped up in John’s.

I stand up and lay my work down. The boy would be five now. Five…

John grabs me up and hugs me tight. The girl stays behind and watches us, but she is not my Linda. I am sorry to have mean thoughts. And I know it is five years now, but I sense he still cares for my daughter.

How silly is that!

I know she is not with us.

“It has been long, Mrs. Stevens.”

“Call me mom or grandma, son. Please.” I kiss his cheeks and acknowledge his mate with a small nod. She waves.

We chat very little. About safe topics: weather, my knitting, and his girlfriend’s job as an LPN at the local hospital.

We both shiver at the letter L.

Yeah, we miss Linda.


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