We met at a political conference during my third year at college. Some innocent 
flirting was done. She led me out on the vast veranda of the conference 
hall with a bottle of champagne.

That summer I interned for the government, I managed to get a rather secure 
position due to my networking abilities. She saw me filing away and stepped 
into my office. We exchange glances and telephone numbers. She spent some 
time in the boss' office, she knew him well. As my boss walked her to the 
door, he gave me an acknowledging nod, and there began what would become my 
career.

I had almost forgotten about the encounter, but I ran into her one night at 
4:37am on damp Tuesday.  I was never the same and it all started from there. 
A few days later, she silently appeared in my office and asked for nothing 
more than my company for an afternoon coffee. This became a somewhat regular 
occurrence, which abruptly stopped. Then a few weeks later, she appeared on 
a street corner as I was walking home and asked me for an innocent favour. 
The very next day, after I had slyly slipped the information into my trouser 
pocket and headed for the men's room, she whispered my name and I followed 
her into a stall. She returned the favour. She kissed me good bye. I told 
her to take care; she told me she could not be caught. I was infatuated.

I turned twenty-four that summer and I hadn’t seen her in three weeks. That 
day I walked home basking in the cool weather, it was a nice change and all 
I had really wanted, I knew nothing else was coming my way on my birthday. 
She showed up at my door early that evening with a silver watch.  It was old 
and foreign and was too small for my wrist. After that day, every time I 
looked at it, I thought of that passionate night.  I never wore the watch, 
not once. 

That fall was my last semester. I went on to do a Master’s which led me 
directly to a secure office position on Capitol Hill. I loved my job.

It had been nearly two years since our last meeting. My relationship with 
Miranda was becoming serious. She was away visiting her family back home. I 
flipped the cap off an expensive import beer and sat on the couch. I felt 
content. I idly watched as the news flickered across the screen. My jaw 
dropped and heart stopped, my stomach turned as they flashed a photograph. 
It couldn’t be. Her. You. I watched the report, it was vague at best. A 
plainclothes police officer had been shot by a woman. I paced the apartment. 
I paced and paced. There was nothing going through my mind. The address book. 
A call had to be made. In dark suits and fedoras, in a back alley, we met. 
Was there anything I could do? He said it was all taken care of, there was 
nothing more he could tell me. There was nothing to worry about; it was all 
in the plan. My power of persuasion served me well. Several days later, a 
hand written slip of paper that read “thank you” found its way into my desk 
drawer. It took everything I had not to run out and search for my love. 

The next day, Miranda returned. I couldn't sleep, not next to her and not 
apart from her and not away from you. I walked the streets at dawn. I 
passed a building, that building. The front door was unlocked and I sneaked 
in. I peaked in through a window. There was a large desk there now. I 
remembered the feeling of that rough carpet against my back and how smooth 
your skin had felt in my arms. And how you had to leave suddenly, without 
as much as a good bye kiss, all I got was glance as you slipped out the door. 
I told you to be careful; you told me they could never catch you. I quit my 
job there the very next day, actually I just never showed up again, the 
thought frightened me greatly.

I went to work, unshowered, unshaven and unloved. I sat at my desk. The 
paperwork strewn about. I could only stare at the note. A decision had 
to be made. I destroy this note and every thought of her, of you, or place 
it neatly in between my papers. I should have left right then and there, 
taken my hat and jacket and never returned. You would have found me. 
Instead I sat at my desk and pulled out the flask I kept behind the stapler 
in my drawer. It was nearly dry.

Miranda waited up for me that night. I hadn’t expected her to be there. I 
had been drinking, so had she, we had that problem. She knew something was 
wrong. Everything always seemed wrong after I felt you near me. I could not 
look her in the eye. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. Miranda left 
without a word. In the morning there was an envelope at my door. My heart 
stopped, this is what I had waited for. I picked it up and tore it open. 
Miranda had dropped it on her way out; it was a note to her family. I put 
it on the table and sat down. The note needed to be destroyed or it would 
destroy me. I got to the office early in an attempt to straighten myself 
out, intent on ridding myself of her. My hand shook as it pulled on the 
drawer, it had gotten stuck, I tugged and it slowly slid open. I hated when 
that happened. I lifted the sheet of paper under which I had placed it. 
There was nothing. Frantically, I searched through my desk drawers. I sat 
down, frustrated. I lifted the sheet again and there it was. I unfolded it, 
but this time it said, “Meet me on the green at 5:00.” The most incredible 
woman I have ever known. I idled about for a while, time would not pass. 
Eventually I settled into the day’s work. I grew increasingly anxious as 
the time rolled around. When I could sit no longer, I left the office.

I pushed my chair away from my desk and placed my hat on my head, closed 
my briefcase. I stopped off in the bathroom and aligned my hair. I looked 
too scruffy, I always did. My boss stopped me on the way out; I told him I 
had an important meeting. He nodded. The stairs never ended and the 
sidewalks went on forever. Finally, that park. There were children every 
where, colourful kites filled the space above the park. It made me smile. 
I scanned the park for her. No one seemed to notice me, though I was the 
only suit around. I walked the path of the park and found a deserted bench 
to sit on. Soon enough she would find me. A child approached me and told me 
to walk behind the water fountain a few yards down. I thank him, he asked 
for a dollar. Behind the fountain there was a small, hidden clearing. There 
stood a figure in a skirt suit, dark hair neat and lips as red as blood. 
Her scent crept towards me and I had to approach.

There were no formalities, ever. Her eyes were dark and her face showed 
intelligence. She smiled when she saw anguished face. Hers had a bandage 
on it and a few scratches. She looked incredible, a classic hero that had 
survived all the villainy the world had thrown at her. I stroked her hair, 
it was smooth and her skin tasted sweet. She said she could not tell me 
what had happened, but that it was all part of something bigger. We walked 
deeper into the woods, I followed her. We sat comfortably on the grassy knoll. 
This is what I had missed, the person who filled my empty moments. There 
were so many questions I had to ask, but none came to mind as I stared at 
her, it didn’t matter then. Something had stopped me from telling her about 
Miranda, but something else told me she already knew. Neither of those things 
stopped us. There was something primitive about our relationship, but there 
is was also an air of mystery and class. I could not resist her. She asked 
me for a favour. There was nothing I would not do for her. Nothing. She would 
find me. I kissed her one last time, though it was difficult to let her go. 
She disappeared into the shadows. 

I walked slowly to my apartment; I bought flowers for Miranda at the corner 
store. She was glad to see me. I regretted giving her the key. She had cooked 
dinner, my favourite nonetheless. What a sweet person. I didn't deserve her. 
She didn't question the lipstick on my collar; I told her a co-worker had 
smudged it on there by accident. She didn't question me. I felt terrible. 
There was something to be done; I had to make it up to her. I tried to be as 
gentle as possible with my dear Miranda that was all I could promise myself. 
She could never find out, she did not deserve that. That night as I held her 
in my arms, she told me that she loved me. I loved her too. I kissed her and 
reminded myself why she was so important to me: she was there for me.

Once again, I was on the street at dawn, this time I was neat and trimmed 
because she could appear at any moment. This continued for about a week. 
One afternoon I received a call to my office. It was her. She gave me a 
room number and an intersection. Three hours. I discretely placed the envelope 
into my briefcase. The documents were in there, the microfilm I placed in my 
pocket, just to be sure. I caught the bus a little bit later than I should 
have, just on the off chance that she would not wait for me. She waited 
patiently in her dim and dingy unkempt motel room by the freeway. I gave 
her the documents without looking into her eyes. She knew something was wrong, 
I don't think she realised what the problem was. There was no way to tell her 
or to turn her down. She kissed me and got into the taxi. I told her to watch 
herself and that I didn't want to see her on the ten o'clock again. She told 
me what she said every time, they could not catch her. I nodded.

Later that year, Miranda and I got engaged. We married within months. A year 
after that, our beautiful son Stephen was born. He looked just like his mother, 
blue eyes and tasselled dark hair. I advanced in my job; I was an important 
member of the government, of our international affairs. It had been nearly 
five years since I had last seen her. I was glad. I had a family now and I 
loved them. I was comfortable with the life I had created for myself. 

Stephen and I had gone to the city park, as we stood waiting for the bus a 
motorcar drove past slowly. A woman was driving, her hair waving slightly 
in the wind. She raised her hand at me and smiled sweetly, her trench coat 
flapping. I could do nothing. Stephen waved back eagerly. Then she was gone. 
How could you do that to me? I had to sit down. She had just crushed me.

No more than a few weeks later, there was a call in the middle of the night. 
There was no one on the other end, but I knew it was you. I had to go outside. 
I went to the bathroom and fixed my hair. You waited for me outside the 
apartment building. You needed some information. I couldn't do it. You took 
me back to your hotel room; it was in the slums of town. You showed me what 
you needed. There was nothing I could do, those were not my department. 
Eyebrows would be raised if I asked for the papers. I think you knew it. 
She thanked me for my time anyway. I'm not sure if I regret it. Miranda 
never asked me where I went that night. I could not lie to her; I did 
not say a thing.

There had been a car accident, a car spun out of control another slammed on 
its brakes, and nothing could have prevented those fatalities. I don't remember 
crying during Miranda's funeral, though I felt sadness and remorse. I felt 
guilt. There was nothing I could do about the way I felt and my actions. She 
was my best friend in life. I was almost sure that you had been there. Stephen 
had lost his mother; he was old enough to understand what this meant and old 
enough to miss her. 

It had been ten years since I had seen either woman. My relationship with my 
son was hardly there. We got along, he didn't give me much trouble for a teenager, 
but I didn't hassle him either. Every time I saw him, I saw Miranda, and how I 
wished it was me in that car. 

After an exhaustive and long day at work of dealing with diplomats and incurable 
matters, I looked forward to my bed. Shortly after I arrived home, I got a call 
from the office; someone had to fly out to Europe in the next few days to settle 
things. I didn't want it to be me. It must have been just past three, the 
telephone rang. I let it ring a few times before deciding to answer. There was 
a muffled scream and Russian, I heard Russian. They were in St. Petersburg. By 
6:00 AM, my bags were packed. I arrived at the office early, ready to fight my 
way onto that assignment. A colleague had beaten me to the punch, I retreated 
into my office. Moments later, my boss stuck his head into my office to let me 
know that they wanted me over there, by request. I accepted. To be honest, no 
one on our end really knew what was going on, just that there was trouble. My 
boss gave me a folder which said classified in small black print in the corner. 
I read it cover to cover on the flight over. Petrograd was slightly chilly that 
spring afternoon when I arrived. Someone stood there with a sign I recognized. 
I followed him without saying a word. It was directly to the bureaucratic world 
that we went. People were bustling about as I entered the foyer of the official 
building. I almost knew where to go. The room went silent as I entered. A man 
approached me from the corner and greeted me. It was my first boss from that 
internship. This was about her.

The information flooded me and I tried to make sense of it all. There were 
discussions and maps and papers. They finally let me sleep; instead I went across 
town to an alley. They knew I would leave, they let me. It was not my first time 
there. I had met this man before. Some promises were made and contracts broken. 
The next morning things seemed calmer. Things appeared to have been in the process 
of resolution. Less than a week had gone by and my work was done. We made a stop 
at the embassy on the way to the airport; a paper had to be signed. As I walked 
across the border, I saw you. I was more relieved than anything. There was nothing 
more that I wanted. Our hands met through the bars and you told me with a grin 
that they could not catch you. I didn't care right then, all I could think about 
was your scent, your dark eyes, you hair, unmoved by the breeze and the touch of 
your fingers to mine. 

During the flight, I sat and stared in a vegetative state. Stephen was glad to see 
me; I had never explained where I was going. It was confidential. I told him I had 
been to Russia and he smiled and didn't ask anymore questions. God, he was just 
like Miranda. We drank our tea in silence.

She had no need for me any longer.

Stephen the academic came to visit his lonely aging father. We sat at the table 
where once a family met. He showed me an article about a cyclist who had gotten 
stuck in the rain down the street the night before. Her bicycle had gotten jammed 
in a sewer and the car did not see her coming. She died almost instantly. She could 
not be identified. He discussed the tragedy of the situation. I couldn't listen. It 
was her. It must have been at least fifteen years, since I had last heard her. She 
had left her life behind and was coming to find me. We were going to be happy. I 
stood up and rummaged through a desk drawer, that damn flask was always dry. Just 
like Miranda, Stephen never questioned anything I did. There was no need.

For days I could do nothing. I sat on the couch, unclean and unshaven, with that 
goddamn flask and an empty bottle of whisky. I got into my car and drove to Stephen's 
house. He was surprised but glad to see me. Such a good child, such a good person, 
just like Miranda. We sat face to face at his kitchen table, he had no family. The 
same newspaper was spread across the table; there were stories of missing agents in 
the Middle East and baseball teams winning trophies. A cat had been rescued from a 
tree. Words had to be exchanged between Stephen and me. There was nothing left in 
my life, I was a miserable old man. My son was a gentle soul who came to visit out 
of pity. There were some things he deserved to know.

Miranda was my best friend. I did not deserve her. I missed her every time I saw 
him, and the sight of him made me hate myself for the things I had done to her. I 
knew what a great loss to the world her death was. I could not tell him that I was 
not in love with her. Stephen asked why I had come over, what was bothering me so 
much that I had to see him. There was nothing I could tell him. I looked into his 
bright eyes, they were so sincere. Suddenly, I watched as he flipped the table, 
and stood to face me with a revolver.