Everyday, the woman came home from her job at the bank, to an empty house. She would change out of her simple grey pantsuit into simple black running leggings. Everyday, the woman would run the same 5 mile route. From her house, across the main street, into a nearby neighborhood. It was a simple running route, one that had her looping around twice through the same streets.
Like clockwork, the woman would cross Cherry Street at 6:15 pm. And, everyday, the man from 1604 Cherry Street would fall into place beside the woman.
They did not know one another. At least, not in the traditional sense. The woman knew that the man liked to run on her left side. And he always took deep, calm, controlled breathes during their runs. The man knew that the woman ran with a small water bottle clutched in her right hand. And she always sighed deeply in content throughout their runs.
But they did not know one another's names nor professions. They did not speak to one another on these runs, not even to say a greeting or goodbye.
Their communication was nonverbal. Their thoughts translated through deep breathes and running cadences. Running was their shared language.
One afternoon, the woman found herself running past 1604 Cherry Street with no one in sight. No familiar footsteps fell by her side, no deep breathes could be heard, except her own. The woman continued on, puzzled but determined to finish her daily routine. When she looped back past 1604 Cherry Street, the woman stopped in front of the red brick house. She must have stood there for quite some time because a slim brunette stepped out the front door, "May I help you?" The woman in black leggings shook her head, No. She began running towards the main street, back home.
Everyday, the woman came home from her job at the bank, to an empty house.
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