David Dibbs

a slip of the tongue or pen, forgetfulness, misplacement of objects, or other error thought to reveal unconscious wishes or attitudes.

When the dust had settled, Miriam would look back on the day and wonder how this unique series of events had come to pass. She knew though, really. Deep within her, she knew.

When one denies a formative part of oneself, one believes it to be hidden. Not so; it spills out of us. It glints from our eyes and wriggles from our mouths in the guise of innocuous chitter chatter.

The placing of a hat, such a small gesture, put into motion a day that would change Miriam’s life for good, and not for the better.

It was just gone nine on a subtly chilly day in March. Hat? No hat? Hat. On it went. Not just on the head but placed, cocked at an exact angle. It was a flirtatious angle, about 30 degrees off conservative, and it was eye-catching. Miriam could swear blind it wasn’t intended to catch any eyes, nor ears, noses or mouths. But eye-catching it was, and eye-catch it did.

Across the road from the post office, Miriam paused in the pearl light and looked both ways along the road. The eyes in question were snagged by the movement of the rakish hat, and the mind they belonged to ensnared.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Honor Clement-Hayes’s story.