Finally it was the concern in her face that unhinged him. That unfettered the rage and pent-up emotions he carried inside. All of the pain. He remembered his arm swinging up in a gesture as if to embrace her, then suddenly pushing her off of the pier. Brutally, inexplicably. The last thing his eyes see is her expression. Not surprise or hate, but fear. The one thing he had never encountered in her.

He never saw her again. She canceled her telephone line, moved out immediately. So that there was no way of reaching her, no chance to apologize. He never saw her again.

The echo of her name now a circular hymn to his days. A ritual about it. He whispers it always, not trusting his voice. Like a sacred prayer which the voice would desecrate. Years later when it is a struggle to recall the exact placement of a mole on her ankle, he will still carry her name fresh in his memory. It will remain there long after the exact details of her physicality have been washed away by forgetfulness and the traffic of everyday.