Christina and Albert were waiting.
They did not know exactly what they were waiting on, nor why, but from a young age it’d become quickly apparent to them that waiting was the name of the game, and wait they did.
Waiting, when it’s all that you know, is quite passable. You can wait anywhere — on a bus, on a train, under water, with a book. Waiting fits around important errands like picking up a box of tea for your mum.
Sometimes waiting is fun. Sometimes it is frustrating, and you’d really rather do something else, like wait on a phone call from a loved one, or wait to play Tetris in an arcade. Waiting can fill the imagination with a million doors ahead of you, all un-opened, or with the dances of every ballerina there has ever been, spread out across the cosmos.
Waiting, in its platonic simplicity, is peaceful perfection.
Christina and Albert sometimes waited together. Sometimes Albert waited at work whilst Christina drove home, and he would wait for her to get home and pick up his landline. When they were far apart, and missing each other, it would give them comfort to know they were waiting together.
