What She Left Behind

I met Sarah on a Tuesday.

First date. Coffee shop with those big windows that let the sun blast right through. Terrible choice on my part. Should've picked somewhere darker.

She had this smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Wore a blue sweater. Kept playing with her ponytail. All the normal first date stuff.

We talked about work (she did something with marketing), about the neighborhood (she'd just moved here), about that new Thai place down the street (neither of us had tried it yet).

Her shadow sat perfectly still in the chair across from her.

Now look, I'm not some shadow expert. I've lived with this thing my whole life like everyone else. Your shadow does what you're thinking about doing. Sometimes it gives you away before you even realize what you want. Most people learn to manage it. Keep their thoughts clean. Think happy thoughts in public. That kind of thing.

But Sarah's shadow wasn't moving at all.

Not the normal kind of controlled stillness either. This was different. Rigid. Like every part of it was clenched tight, holding something back.

She laughed at my joke about the barista's mustache. Her shadow didn't even twitch.

She leaned forward, interested, when I talked about my weekend hiking trip. Her shadow stayed frozen in that chair.

She reached across the table and touched my hand when I mentioned my mom had been sick. Her shadow's hand didn't move an inch.

"You okay?" she asked. "You seem distracted."

"No, yeah, I'm great." I tried to focus on her face. That smile. Those eyes. But I kept glancing down.

And then the stillness broke.

Her shadow uncrossed its arms. No, not uncrossed. It exploded out of that frozen position like it had been holding its breath and finally gasped.

"Listen," she said, and there was something in her voice now. Something careful. "I really like you. I mean, I know it's just coffee, but I think this could be something."

Her shadow stood up.

Just stood right up out of the chair while she sat there smiling at me.

It walked to the window. Pressed both palms against the glass. And I swear to god, it looked like it was trying to get out.

"Sarah," I said slowly. "Your shadow."

"I know." She wasn't smiling anymore. "I know you can see it."

The coffee shop was bright. So bright. Every shadow in the place was visible, honest, doing exactly what its person was thinking about doing. The guy in the corner whose shadow kept checking his watch even though he was pretending to read. The woman at the counter whose shadow was already reaching for her wallet.

Normal shadows. Honest shadows.

Sarah's shadow slammed its fists against the window.

"Most people don't notice on the first date," she said quietly. "The lighting's usually worse."

"What's it trying to do?"

She looked at me for a long moment. Then she looked at her shadow, still beating against the glass like it was drowning.

"What do you think it's trying to do?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

She stood up. Her shadow didn't follow. It stayed at the window, palms flat against the glass, perfectly still now. Watching something outside I couldn't see.

"I should go," she said.

"Sarah—"

"It was nice meeting you."

She walked toward the door. Her shadow turned its head to watch her leave. Didn't follow. Didn't move.

Just stood there at the window.

After she left, I sat there for maybe ten minutes. Watching her shadow. Waiting for it to disappear the way shadows do when their person gets too far away.

It didn't disappear.

It pressed its forehead against the glass. Shoulders shaking like it was sobbing. Then it started pointing. Frantic gestures at the window. At the door. At where Sarah had gone. Back to the window. Over and over.

Pointing at something outside.

Reaching toward where Sarah went.

Then pointing outside again, more desperately.

I asked the barista about it when I left. "That shadow by the window. How long has it been there?"

She glanced over. Shrugged. "Since we opened this morning, I think? Owner said not to worry about it. Said someone would come collect it eventually."

"Collect it?"

"Yeah." She handed me my change. "They always do."

I looked back one more time before I left. The shadow had both hands pressed flat against the glass. Its head was tilted up like it was looking at the sky. Or watching for something on the horizon.

Then it pointed east.

Held its arm straight out, pointing at something I couldn't see.

I've been trying to find Sarah for three days now. The number she gave me goes to voicemail. The marketing firm she mentioned doesn't exist.

But I keep thinking about her shadow. About how it stayed behind.

About what it means when your shadow would rather be trapped in a coffee shop than follow you home.

About what it was pointing at that I couldn't see.