A jolt woke her up. The coolness of the cab window eased the smack it just endured by the cabbie slamming on his breaks. Realizing he had done this, he peered into the mirror and said, "Sorry miss." She blinked, gave a little head nod in acknowledgement and closed her eyes once more. She couldn't wait to be free of this vehicle, even if it meant seeing him.
The snow looks like it's slowing down, she said when she opened her eyes again. Three more blocks. Two more blocks. One more block. She was going to see him again.
The cab slowed to a crawl and halted a little more than five feet from her front door. Their front door. The one that kept the world out from their hideaway. Their kingdom. Their life. She was going to see him again.
Him. Him. She thought. The snows falling faster again. Him. He was everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. She was going to see him again.
She climbed the seven steps that led to that door, put her key in the lock and opened it. Warm air enveloped her and she slipped inside. She took off her outerwear piece by piece, delaying the meeting for a little while longer. She was going to see him again.
She hear the familiar scoot of the chair from his spot at the head of their table. The one they bought at a flee market in the South somewhere. The one they shipped that came in several big boxes. The one she knew every inch of, because he always sat there - and she wanted to be anywhere he was. She was going to see him again.
He stood in the doorway to the kitchen. One thumb hooked in his left jean pocket, and the rest of his body fell in lazily. He had a uniform: jeans, a white tshirt (one she always stole when she could), a sweater (most likely from his mother), and boots. She was seeing him again.
As he stepped toward her again, like he had so many times before - she knew she never wanted to leave him again. Dropping her baggage, she embraced him.
She was with him again.