I asked my followers on Instagram to choose an image from a selection of three as inspiration for a short story, and here was their choice! This image was taken by Alex Umbelico and it’s inspired a New York City centred piece around common grief.

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Shadowlines

By Jess Knaus

Late afternoon glow soaked the city, creating dark corners and passageways that loomed around Ian. Wherever he walked, the shadows followed, day after day. Like water circling the drain he rotated between loneliness, sadness, despondency, and grief. Moving through time, but remaining in place. 

New York City had become their chosen home, twenty-four years earlier. Hannah had not enjoyed life in Seattle – her socks and spirits were perpetually damp. It was only right that her final resting place should be as vibrant as NYC. But that energy felt offensive now that she was gone. She would observe passers by: people studying in the library and elderly passengers waiting in the subway, a broad grin across her face. Strangers found a welcome home in her eyes. He would only just make eye contact, always unsure if he could trust that unknown person on the sidewalk. Now he barely lifted his gaze at all, refusing to see a face he might have to respond to, someone who might want something from him. She had been his guide, his map and compass in a foreign land.

His only solace recently had been their quiet little apartment, a touch of gloom, antique dust, but also quiet joy. The smokey places from novels and fairy tales. It wouldn’t have felt like home to many, but it was worn in like an old boot with a comfortable sock. A place to read books, listen to Fats Waller and watch the skyline from the roof with glasses of whiskey. 

He ordered a coffee at the shop on the corner and crossed the street in search of more warmth, more of her. Sitting at a park bench he pulled the lid off his coffee cup and began to sip. It was November – when the chill began to settle on the city, trench coats were wrapped tightly, and the countdown to the holidays ticked softly but persistently in the background. Shops were selling Halloween costumes at discounted prices while the Thanksgiving decorations were unboxed. The ice skating rinks were slowly set up and snow would begin falling soon. 

He watched as teenagers passed a basketball between them, and young ones tottered around the swing set, their mothers tailing close behind. A dog walker was instead taken for a walk themselves by a mixed collection of energetic dogs, and a bike messenger pulled up in front of a nearby house to deliver a package. No one knew that the city had lost a part of its DNA. But he felt her absence intensely. He longed for her presence again, but not just in his arms – here in his arms. In this city. In her city. 

But New York carried on. It sang the same song – one consisting of millions of songs sung at the same time, of lights that never dim, of cafes that never stop serving. Of people that just don’t stop. Why don’t they stop? She’s gone! Stop!

An elderly lady approached the bench he was on, neatly smoothing her coat under her legs as she sat down. Her purse clicked open as she reached inside for a handkerchief to dab on her nose. Ian’s focus was on his shoes, his hands soaking in the warmth of the coffee as he leant forward on his knees. 

‘Who was she?’ asked the lady softly.

Ian’s muscles froze. How did she…?

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ he asked, feeling blurry.

‘Who was she? The woman who has led you here, to this bench, with such a downcast look on your face and no doubt, a matching feeling in your heart,’ she replied.

This woman knew. She knew his torture. He’d always assumed his quiet composure would go by as an uncrackable code, but apparently not.

‘My wife, Hannah,’ he answered.

‘Well now, I bet this place doesn’t quite feel the same, does it?’ she asked. Ian shook his head.

‘But you know, this city has a way of carrying things onward. Your spirit doesn’t disappear – it settles. It settles on the places you loved, and inside the people you loved,’ she explained. Ian said nothing, not even lifting his eyes from the pavement.

‘What you can do now, is find her. Find her here,’ she said, pointing at the city skyline.

‘Did she like it here?’

‘So much,’ he choked.

The lady observed his pain with the sweetest of smiles.

‘Then you’ll know exactly where to find her.’

She gently lifted herself onto her feet and shuffled her way towards the road, looking both ways before stepping out to cross.

Moments after she left his side of the road a thought popped into his mind as he scrambled to his feet.

‘What was his name?’ Ian yelled across the street.

The lady stopped, spun around and smiled in return.

‘Arthur. His name was Arthur.’

She waved, turned, and faded into the city.

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