Written by Su Red...
Nothing Is Forever
"I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about.”- Oscar Wilde
This is a story about 'nothing', similar in style to 'Seinfeld'. Sometimes nothing can be everything...
“We are completely booked tonight, there are no tables available.”
“Oh shit.”, I thought when the receptionist at the Bistro uttered those words to me over the phone.
Where else could the four of us chat? At Rebecca's house the topic will undoubtedly turn to the recent trials and tribulations at her law firm since she leaves work folders all over the place. Fascinating to her, but more potent than Valerian pills to the rest of us. If we go to Paul's house the conversation will turn to why both his house and cell phone ring so often and we'll get into an argument with him about whether or not it's rude for him to keep taking calls while he has guests. If we go to Colin's house the problem is that it really is no more than a tiny artists studio with barely enough room for him, never mind four of us. And Paul will turn the conversation to why he refuses to stop donating his paintings to local galleries in need of recognition instead of selling them at one of SoHo's prominent galleries for the big bucks. I wouldn't mind having them come to my house, but the last time they did, something as trivial as an old college photograph on the wall managed to turn the conversation to my relationships with men, and the lack of success in them. Then they made suggestions on singles bars and even mentioned a few lesbian cafes. Each one had their thoughts on why I seem to choose the wrong men to date and shy away from potentially great relationships. After they left, I had scanned through the TV channels hoping for some comedy to lift my spirits, but every channel seemed to be showing a black and white feature about women who keep missing their handsome soulmate and then meet him just moments before being diagnosed with some fatal illness. No, I've decided we have to get into the restaurant tonight.
So I call Rebecca and tell her they said they were booked for tonight. She calls me back five minutes later and says she has taken care of it and gotten us a table. Being a lawyer does more than bring in the money, it always seems to help her get her way. She is a woman who is not used to being disappointed. I am the first one here. The others have jobs to rush from and if no one was here, the table would be given to another party.
“Damn.” “It's crowded in here and the table isn't ready yet.”
So I go outside. “It's cold out here.”
I light a clove cigarette and start to feel a bit lonely as it gets shorter and shorter and the others haven't arrived yet. Suddenly my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I see Paul's name on the screen and quickly flip it open.
“Hey Paul.”
“Red?” “Oh, hey sorry, I was trying to call Rebecca, and your name is right below hers.”
“No problem.”, I said with a tiny laugh.
“See you in a few minutes.”, he said before I could ask.
“Ok.” I said and flipped the phone shut.
Glancing inside, I see it's still crowded so I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck and decide to have one more cigarette. Unsuccessfully I try to blow smoke rings and end up watching puffs fade into the cold air. I feel good in the brand new Calvin Klein pants suit I'm wearing that my mom got me for Christmas, but not good that I couldn't afford it on my own. Standing here alone I feel like a lost little girl. I hope they get here soon. When the four of us do manage to get together for dinner, folks at the surrounding tables look at us with a touch of envy. Paul and Rebecca can easily afford any clothes they want, Colin inherited his fathers suits when he died, and most of my nice clothes were gifts. Or perhaps people look not so much because of our appearance, but because our not so silent banter about nothing in particular indicates we are not here for any particular celebration, but just random enjoyment.
Rebecca was the one who wanted to come to this restaurant. A year before I met her, Paul and I spent what is to this day my favorite New Year's eve here. We ate and drank till about eight, went to the cinema, then back to his place and shagged wildly until we were breathless and fell asleep sweaty and smiling. We didn't get to watch the ball drop in Times Square that year, but it didn't matter. We were happy then and just being together was plenty even though we never defined what 'together' meant. Paul had been interested in dating me, but for reasons I can't even remember today, I turned down his advances. A part of me has always regretted that because the 'what might have been' scenerio never sits well with me. My goal is to be an old woman with no regrets. It's difficult though, when trivial things pile up and do their best to block out one big thing that could make us happy. By the time Paul knew my feelings, the 'too little, too late' scenerio had come into play. We rarely have time alone together these days and thinking about that makes me incredibly sad.
I go inside to ask the hostess if the table is ready yet. She informs me that it is, so I tell her I'll sit down and the others will be along soon. She leads me to a cozy corner table in the back of the restaurant and I know right away that Rebecca requested it.
“May I get you a drink?”, the waiter asks.
I pause for a second and then say “A Shirley Temple.” He laughs. “I'm serious”, I say. “I'll be drinking plenty of wine when my friends arrive.” Perhaps since I was feeling a bit like a little girl this night, I decided to indulge in a favorite childhood addiction. Shirley Temples were my favorite dining out drink pretty much until the time I lost my virginity. Somehow after that, the sweetness topped with those plump red cherries seemed inappropriate.
Paul and Rebecca arrive, one right behind the other, about halfway through the Shirley Temple, which I never finish because a bottle of red wine and a bottle of white wine are brought to us even before they've taken their coats off. Our table is the round booth style and as Paul slides in about 6 inches away from me, Rebecca is right next to him and I see her thigh brush his. He gives her a tight- lipped glance and she responds with a tight- lipped mini smile. Then she looks towards me.
"How are you, Red?"
"Great", I reply.
Paul's cell phone rings then and before he answers it, he gives me a warm smile and rubs my shoulder, letting his fingers run beneath my shirt. Rebecca pretends not to notice, and opens up the menu. Colin arrives five minutes later.
"Sorry.", he says. "I Had to shower, I was covered in paint."
He's usually the last one to arrive which means he sits the farthest from me. We exchanged big welcoming smiles and I felt somewhat relieved that he was there. He was dressed very nicely in a black suit, although the white dress shirt was sheer enough to show the T-shirt he had on underneath which said in bold letters "Coed naked web design- My domain or yours?"
Our order was taken as soon as we'd all decided. As we waited ,we quickly finished both bottles of wine. Two more were brought to us without us even asking when the waitress arrived with our shrimp cocktails, herb crusted bread and steaks. Rebecca says they have the best food here in the entire city.
"Five years ago they got sued because of a horendous roach problem.", she says. "If it wasn't for my firm, they'd all be out on their asses now, instead of working their asses off making loads of money on starving folks like us.", she says to us with a laugh and big grin.
I glance down and notice she's kicked her shoes off and is rubbing Paul's leg with her foot. He is holding the phone to his ear with his right hand and with the left he gently strokes her thigh, bringing a soft flush to her cheeks and a smile to her lips. Writers do tend to be very observant and I've begun to think it is this quality that leads many of them to suffer from manic depression. Paul ends the phone call and begins to tell us about all the sales he's made today.
"Everyone needs something different.", he says. "And I can make all of them happy."
Colin is under the impression that the impressionist painting on the wall behind me is a fake and he wants to tell the manager about it.
"You do that and I'm telling them you wandered in here and sat down with us, and we were too nice to tell you to leave!", Rebecca drunkenly blurts out at him.
"You just lost yourself a case Miss know it all!", he laughs back at her.
I look around and notice the familiar smiles of people amused by our amusement. It makes me happy.
“What are you looking at, Red?”, Paul asks.
“Nothing.”, I say.
"Can I get you folks anything else tonight?", the waitress asks.
"Nothing else for us, thanks.", Paul replies giving her a smile.
We put on our coats and walk outside together.
“ Shit.” “It's even colder now.”, I say.
A cab is just pulling up to the curb.
"I need to grab some things in the Food Emporium before heading home", Paul says. "Bec, wanna share a cab since it's on your way?"
"Sure", she replies.
Colin and I each get a hug and kiss on the cheek from both of them before they leave. We watch the cab pull away. He smiles and gives me a big hug, playfully grabbing my ass in the process.
"How is that handsome man of yours doing?", I ask.
"Terrific", he replies. "He played a gig in San Fran tonight, and he'll be back home Sunday." Just then his bus arrives.
"I'll call you soon." I say as he gets on.
“You better!” he shouts with a smile.
I spot a cab halfway down the street and run to catch it. Just as I approach it and put my hand on the door, a British accented voice from behind says loudly, "Hey!..."
I turn around and see the sandy haired man whose cab I've just unintentionally tried to take. I begin to apologize, but before I can even say "I'm sorry", he says
"No, it's quite alright, you go ahead, gorgeous.", and opens the door for me. I smile and thank him as I get in the cab.
"At a party tonight?", the driver asks .
"No, just out with a few old friends." I reply.
"Must of had a lot to talk about", he says.
"No", I reply. " Nothing really, nothing at all."
La Peinture (The Painting)
My first piece of flash fiction
I was very young, that’s what I tell people, but truthfully I wasn’t that young. At least I was old enough not to be so vulnerable. I remember clearly the man, who you will hear me describe in detail, and the small Parisian studio where our encounter occurred. How it smelled so strongly of paint, the hundreds of paintings, all his, how he kept the lights dim so that even he was uncertain of how a finished work would turn out, unsure of each stroke.
I was unprepared for the first stroke he took that night. We were sitting next to each other on the floor, looking at, or perhaps I should say into one of his favorite paintings. He reached over me to put it back in its place, then instead of sitting next to me again, he knelt in front of me, took both my hands in his, moved towards me slowly and kissed me hard and strong. I hadn’t experienced such a strong kiss before. It was not so much about our lips joining, but rather about trying to pry something out of me. He saw me not as a hollow shell, he wanted my pearl. His tongue felt its way deep inside my mouth. When he let go of my hands, i reached under his shirt, pulled it off, and ran my fingers through his chest hair. I was consumed with curiosity. A blank canvas lay in front of me, the paint wet and ready. He pulled off my shirt, unhooked my bra and fervently sucked on my nipples. I breathed heavily and unsteady with unexpected delight. His hands moved down my body, guided by the sweat. My panties and skirt were at my feet. Then he unzipped his jeans, pulled them off first, then his underwear. He knelt in front of me like this, naked and erect. It was my turn to be the artist and him the painting, unfinished. This raw state is only fully appreciated by artists. The painting means nothing to the public until it is completed. I’m partial to the raw state, when anything is possible. I laid down on my back on top of a blank canvas and pulled him towards me, between my thighs. He pushed his penis inside me with one quick motion. I gasped as a mixture of blood and cum trickled out of me. I hurt a bit, but it was being soothed by something stronger than pain, some desire of the unknown.
I inhaled and became seduced by the fragrance of paint, oil, Drakkar, and even my own musky smell that grew stronger with every push. My heart was beating fast. Sometimes I closed my eyes, concentrating on the scent and the warm, moist flesh covering me. Sometimes my eyes were wide open and staring into his. We both saw something in each other, something we hadn’t seen in ourselves.
His hands were on my waist when my legs tightened around him. My thighs shook wildly, he pushed himself into me as deep and hard as he could. The pearl came loose and tumbled from its shell. Both of our mouths parted and simultaneously we exhaled deep breaths that joined the fragrant air. I felt vulnerable lying on the floor, naked and moist with this man I had met only hours before. He rolled off of me and laid next to me, turning his head to look at me. I let him take in the vulnerability, let his eyes take brushstrokes of our experience. "You look surreal, princess.", he said. We slept there on the floor underneath old painting cloths. In the middle of the black,when I could no longer see him, I linked my fingers with his, wrapped my leg around his and felt his penis, now placid, against my thigh. This is how we slept in the hours after our own finished painting. In the morning before going our separate ways, we hugged and then kissed good-bye without saying a word.
I returned to that studio two days later, just before I was to return to America. It was an empty room except for one covered painting. I removed the cloth to reveal the painting, a naked girl much more beautiful than I considered myself, but I knew it was me. None of his other paintings portrayed a woman like he had painted me. Around my neck was a necklace with a small red heart pendant. This confused me at first because I don't own such a necklace, but I soon recognized the heart shape was from my own blood from that night.
I never saw him again. He had moved on to to some other city where he would paint for a while and then move on to somewhere else. This was a long time ago. I've made love to other men. I am in love now. Still, I feel guilty that I can't forget exactly how he felt, every stroke we took of each other that one night. I look every time I see paintings for sale on the street, or in a gallery, look to see if maybe it is him, the painter.
Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall
(sorry about the spacing mishap!)
The weeping willow tree was the first thing I noticed as I walked up to
the restaurant. It was rainy and somewhat dark for 11:00 am. Today is the
kind of day you picture when people describe England to someone like myself who
has never been here before. Still, I feel somewhat naïve as I look up at the
sky with its grey clouds. A part of me was expecting Mum nature to order the
sun to shine while I was visiting. Perhaps you think the weeping willow would
only add to the dreariness of this scene, but there was something about this
one that seemed welcoming. It looked like a princess, tall, with a thin body
and long, flowing tresses. She stood not in front of the restaurant, but to
the right and back a bit as if she was a bit modest. I smiled, still being a
bit naïve, thinking this was an actual woman who could see me and smile back.
I walk up a cobblestone path to the restaurant. It seems to have no
name other than "restaurant", which is lit in a bright orange diner style sign
that I was about to realize was quite inappropriate for such a place. As I
enter, I give it the poet's overview, noticing first the wood floor and walls that
give it a log cabin feeling. I notice all the tables have cloth napkins, a
red or pink votive candle and polished silverware. Then my eyes roamed to the
back corner of the medium sized room, and a puzzled look sprung to my face as
I saw the pool table, dart board, and jukebox surrounded by a wall of various
license plates, some European and some American. This is the kind of
restaurant I could have imaginedin my writers mind. I find the mixed atmosphere charming and honest.
Seemingly out of nowhere an altoish male English voice greets me: "Hello
miss." "Breakfast or lunch for you today?"
I was so entranced by my surroundings that I twitched slightly at the
voice that hit the pause button on the reel of film going through my mind.
"Oh, I'm sorry" he said quickly in a bit of an embarrassed tone.
I looked at him and saw a character straight from a Charles Dicken's
story, who had been modernized for today's audience. He was wearing a teal
sweater over a cream button down shirt and dark blue jeans with tan Merrell boots.
I guessed he was somewhere between 40 - 45 years old. He was quite handsome,
but something about his appearance gave the impression he would fit better in
the Dicken's story than in today's England.
"Oh, I was just admiring the place" I said.
"I haven't come across any place like this yet."
" I'm visiting from America."
I was well aware of the red color that absorbed my face at this point.
As if my combination New York/Boston accent and shirt that said "American as
Apple Pie" didn't clue him in to this information. But why was I embarrassed
around this stranger?
"It's been a while since I've seen any American tourists in here" he
said.
"They mostly head straight for London."
"We're a bit out of the way."
"Are you visiting folks around here?"
Those words made every cloud in the sky turn from grey to black. I
thought about Matt, the one person I most wanted to see and how I'd come this
close to London and him, but I still felt so far away. In dreary weather like
today's, one single sad thought like this was enough to sink my spirits. My host
must have noticed a frown on my face, because in a somewhat embarrassed tone
he quickly changed the subject, saying
"You must be hungry." "I'll stop being nosey and show you to a table."
"Oh, you're not being nosey." "I'm just a bit out of it today." "Still
not used to the time difference" I said.
I was hoping I didn't seem unfriendly. He was very nice and how would
he know such an inquiry about my reasons for being here would make me sad. He
led me to a small table facing the willow tree.
"How is this?" he asked
"Great" I replied as I got comfortably seated in the chair.
"By the way, if you need anything my name is Matt" he said as he walked
away.
I had to appreciate the irony in this as depressing as it was.
I opened the menu he had handed me and was pleased at the selection this
place offered. They served breakfast all day, something I find appealing
because I often eat pancakes or waffles as an evening snack. Of course this
place was too far for me to walk to alone after dark and public transportation was
not plentiful here in the English countryside. Still, it was nice to see
such an accommodating restaurant. I decided I was in a breakfast mood and felt
like having chocolate chip pancakes and a large chai tea.
A moment or two after I had closed the menu, Matt came back over to the table.
"Looks like you've decided", he said with a shy smile.
I ordered my late breakfast and thanked him with a warm smile. There was something about this man that was welcoming. I liked him very much in the few minutes I had spoken with him. He brought over a large mug of Chai. I began to wish he wasn't running this place, so I could invite him to sit across from me and chat some more. While I waited for my food to arrive, I peered out the window and looked at the Willow tree again. I felt I could never get tired of looking at it.
Matt came over with my pancakes then, and glanced at the tree I was growing so fond of. I told him that I was a writer and that looking at the tree could certainly inspire poetry. He told me that many people admire it and we had a five minute conversation about authors, poets and painters who are inspired by nature. The restaurant was busy, but he had two other people waiting on tables.
"I actually have a gorgeous painting of that tree", he said. "The artist really captured the shape and color of it."
"It sounds beautiful", I said. "I wish I could see it."
"Well", he said, "if you come back again one of these days for dinner, I can show it to you after I close up here." "I live just next door."
I was somewhat surprised at his offer and I think he was a bit surprised he had made it. After all, we had just met. But I liked this man and I could tell he liked me as well, so before he could shy away from me, I smiled and said
"How about tomorrow?"
"Sure."
His flat was different than I would have expected if I had had time to
be expecting any of this. I had had dinner at the restaurant and chatted with Matt about nothing in particular, as if we were old friends. we were comfortable around each other and it felt nice. As he was closing the restaurant, he asked
"Should I run over and get the painting, or would you like to come with me?"
Although he was in many ways still a stranger, I wasn't nervous.
"I'll come with you."
And so there I was in the home of the man who I'd met the day before when had been my waiter in a restaurant. His home was very casual with laundry in a heap in the living room, several plates with dried food stuck to them in the kitchen sink and
the open bedroom door revealing an unmade bed. Typically a sight like this
would be a turn off for me, but tonight I was flattered that he felt
comfortable enough with me to bring me here without tidying up first. As I set my purse
down on the couch, a fat calico cat came running into the room and rubbed
against my legs.
"Hey Mistletoe!"
"Meet Red."
"She's my friendly roommate" he said.
"Aw, she's gorgeous" I replied as I bent down and scratched her head. I
found it charming that his home resembled a college guy's pad much more than it
did a middle aged man's.
I was about to get up when something caught my eyes from behind the
couch. It was a large wooden sign with Caroline's carved into it. It was
obviously meant to hang outside the restaurant.
"How come this sign is here?"
"Oh, it's an old one." "Haven't used a sign on that place in years."
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked "I have an open bottle of Pinot
Grigio if you like white wine, or I can make tea."
"The wine sounds good" I replied.
I was still focused on the sign. I reached over and felt the wood.
"Well, it seems to be in good condition and I think it would look
terrific hanging out front" I said.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you", he said. "You might get a
splinter."
Something about his tone told me that he obviously didn't want to
discuss the sign. Although I couldn't imagine why, I decided to drop the subject.
I went into the kitchen while Mistletoe curled up on the sofa.
As I took a glass of wine from him, I peered out one of the windows and
noticed what a great view of the willow tree there was. The beautiful
crescent moon in the sky above illuminated her in such a way that she seemed to be
happy and smiling. There was also a small orange kitten playfully running
around beneath the tree.
"She must have run away from home" Matt said as he stood next to me and
watched the scene. "Mistletoe's been mothering her so much, I'm sure I'm
stuck with her."
He grinned as I shot him a look. He left the room for a moment then and returned with the painting I had come to see.
"Wow, it is incredible", I said as I took it from him and stared at all the detail.
For the next hour we sat on the couch and casually talked about England and places we'd
visited. Since he had lived here his whole life, he was able to tell me some
fascinating historical facts.
"Most people read about London's history and go there already knowing
what they'll be seeing", he explained. "But there's so much history to the
English countryside that you don't hear about until after you've seen it and then
get curious."
He was obviously much more interested in history than I tend to be. I
couldn't wait to get to London and explore the theatrical and artistic sites.
Still, I was intrigued by what he was saying and began to see this country in
a whole new light. Our conversation was comfortable. We both felt like we'd
known each other for much longer than a couple days. In a way, this was
perfect. It was nice to have met someone like him out here. Still, a part of me
felt sad that together we were more like a comfortable pair of old shoes than
sexy stiletto heels. As terrific as we were getting along, all of the evening
was just reminding me how I always end up being the "girl next door" instead
of the sexy stranger.
Perhaps this is why when he leaned over to kiss me I honestly thought it
was going to be no more than a friendly lip to lip goodnight. But suddenly
our tongues seemed to be searching for gold that was buried in our throats. He
ran his fingers along the back of my neck and I ran mine through strands of
silver hair. Then we seemed to skip a few steps as he lifted my shirt over my
head and I unbuttoned his. He undid my bra with a little awkwardness that I
found charming and his lips made their way down to my nipples. He sucked at
them hard, almost too hard for a moment where I was scared he might bite and hurt
me. Perhaps instinctively, I bit his ear causing him to pull back.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to do that so hard" I said.
"It's ok" he whispered back.
Our lips met again for a few minutes as our bodies pressed closer
together. I liked the way his chest hair felt against my breasts. This was nice
and comforting and it had been a while since either of us had been intimate with
someone. This is the kind of feeling that when right seems to last forever.
This night it would last only those few moments. His lips began to find
their way to my neck and almost instantly touched the one spot that always makes
my whole body quiver. Without thinking I murmured
"Oh Matt…"
Of course his name was Matt, so there was really nothing wrong with
this. However, just hearing it come from my mouth and realizing I was in the arms
of a stranger, made my body stiffen.
"What's wrong?" he asked
"Nothing…nothing."
"Maybe we should slow down" he said.
"I'm sorry" I said. "It's not you." "It's just my being here."
"Here in my flat?", he asked.
"No, here in England" I replied. "There's someone I'm hoping to see
while I'm here." "A man I've known online for a while, but haven't met in
person." "His name is Matt too" I said with a nervous laugh.
"I think I understand now", he said. "You seemed uncomfortable the
first time I met you, when I asked about why you were here." "Can I ask where he
lives?"
"London", I said.
He laughed softly. "That's what I figured." "You seem like more of a
city girl, a bit out of place here, like Zsa Zsa Gabor in Green Acres." I
laughed. "Well alright, I suppose it's not that obvious, but why the baby steps
to London?", he asked. "Why not go straight there?"
"Wait a minute" I said. "There's way too much you haven't told me for
me to freely dispense my personal information."
"Like what?", he asked.
"The sign…" I suggested.
"Oh…" he replied and then paused for moment. "Caroline, she was my
wife." "I named the restaurant after her." "She died a little over a year ago."
"I took the sign down the day she was buried." "It just didn't seem right
leaving it up."
"I'm sorry" I said softly. I hadn't expected such a sad story behind
the sign. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"No, I don't mind confiding in you", he said. "It's actually funny you
spotted her sign." "Her and I had a romantic meeting story you'll like."
"Before I opened the restaurant, I was giving massages and she was one of my
clients." "I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that she was the woman I wanted
to marry." "I'd never felt anything like that before and I wasn't sure how I
could know something so important so quickly, but I did."
"That's amazing", I said. He was smiling as he spoke of her.
"She had long black hair and her eyes, they were such a beautiful green
that people assumed it was contacts." "While I massaged her, we started
talking about careers and I mentioned how I had always wanted to open my own
restaurant." "It turned out she had the same dream as well as some money put aside
to back it up." "We discovered we had so much in common that we agreed to
meet up for a date." "It was December and we had our first kiss under the
mistletoe in a small café." "A tiny calico kitten followed us as we left and
Caroline kept her." "I planted the willow tree for her on her birthday as a place
she could sit underneath and draw." "We dated for about six months, then were
married in a London chapel one July." "She moved in here and we bought what
used to be a diner, re-did it and re-named it." "Everything was a mutual
effort." "I loved log cabins and she didn't want to see the entire diner torn
down, hence what you see today." "I was the type of guy who never thought of
getting married, none the less after just six months of dating." "But it really
is true what they say, about how you just know when it's right." "When I think
of the other women I thought could be right for me…none of them even begin to
compare to her."
"It's funny how life works", I said. "How two adults can get
butterflies in their stomachs and be as nervous as teenagers on their first date."
I was curious how Caroline had died, but wasn't sure I should ask. He
looked so happy talking about how they met. But he seemed to sense my
curiosity.
"She died in a train accident", he said without my asking. "She was
visiting relatives in Paris one weekend." "I stayed here to run the restaurant
and never got to see her again." "After that it just didn't seem right to keep
the sign up there." "Thinking of her was so painful."
"Well, I just met you", I said, "but you just told me about her with a
huge smile on your face." "I think your love is starting to overcome the pain."
"It did feel nice to talk about her again", he said. "Strange that the
first real conversation I've had about her since her death was with the first
woman I've kissed since her."
At this point we both realized that we had just spent the past twenty
minutes half naked, talking about other people in our lives. Rather than being
uncomfortable though, we both knew we had been able to get each other past
some fears that had been holding us back in life.
As we dressed, he looked at me and asked, "How much do you like this
Matt guy?"
"Quite a bit" I admitted. "He's a friend of mine, but we only know each
other from the internet and have never met in person."
"Really?", he said. "That's incredible." "So, you came all this way to
meet him?"
"Well, for the most part", I replied. "But I've been telling myself
that England is a great place to write." "This way if he doesn't want to see me,
it's not a total loss." I'm just not sure I believe that."
"He's a very lucky man", he said.
I looked down. He lifted my chin in his hand and our eyes met.
"He is lucky." "And I'm sure he knows it." "Especially since you've
been friends a while." "Likely he's a bit nervous just like you are even if he
doesn't admit it." "You just need to take that step and leave the rest up to
fate."
"That's what I'm trying to work up the courage to do", I said.
"You'll be fine", he said. "It's an adventure." "Be glad you get to
experience it!" "I'll make you a deal." "When you get to London, because I
know you will, call me and I'll put Caroline's sign back on the restaurant."
"Maybe that's why we were meant to meet", I said. "To give each other
some encouragement."
"That could be", he replied with a smile.
"It's pretty late", I said. "I should be getting back."
"Ok", he said and then wrapped his arms around me. "I'll walk you back."
We walked to the door quietly. For a moment we stood there looking at
each other, not feeling awkward anymore. Then we moved closer to each other
and pressed our lips together, staying in the kiss for a few more moments as
Mistletoe walked around our legs.
He took my hand as we walked back to the Inn I was staying at. We
didn't say much, just made idle conversation about the moon and the stars. Somehow
though, the walk was too short.
When we arrived, we hugged again and shared one last little kiss.
"Good night", he whispered. "Good night", I said.
Lying in bed that night, I had a strange feeling, a mix of comfort and
loneliness. As I stretched my legs out across the king sized bed, I missed the
Matt I was supposed to meet here more than ever. I fell asleep alone
wondering if we'd ever have the chance to fall asleep together.
I decided to have dinner at the restaurant the next evening. I would be
moving to a different Inn the next day and probably wouldn't have the chance
to visit it again. The restaurant was packed and barely resembled the place
I'd met Matt just a couple days earlier. Even Mistletoe was there, behind the
counter playing with her adopted daughter who I'd affectionately named Willow.
People gathered in the back room and sang karioke while the crowd drunkenly
applauded even the worst singers. When Matt's turn came, he selected the song
"Sweet Caroline" which he sang loud and proud, pointing the microphone in my
direction for me to shout the "oh, oh, oh's" and "good times never seemed so
good." On my turn, I sang… It was nice to see him so happy and comfortable,
as opposed to the awkward character I'd met the other day. I felt good knowing
I'd helped him, but still the thought running through my mind was if I'd be
able to put an even bigger smile on Matt's face one of these days.
I glanced outside at the willow tree, which tonight had a few strands of
white lights around it. They raised her branches a bit and she looked happy,
as if she was finally getting the recognition she deserved instead of hiding
in a corner. I smiled. Matt saw me staring out the window and came over. We
both watched her swaying in the breeze for a minute.
Then he said to me "by the way, I didn't tell you, but that's Caroline's
tree." "At first I didn't like it, but she always said the weeping willow
was the most human of all trees because it felt sad sometimes, like in the fall
when it lost its leaves, but it could also be cheered up by people, like when
we put the lights on it." "She painted the picture, and after she died I scattered her ashes around that tree."
Room With a View
for Mike
As he finally slid into bed next to Dagmar for the very first time, Leo was surprised at how comfortable it felt to be so close to her sleeping body. Instinctively he cuddled up to her as if he had been doing so for years. On the plane ride over, he had found himself more nervous about this encounter than he had expected to be. Leo was no stranger to women but no planning could have prepared him for those final few hours before they would meet.
After his third bloody Mary, he rambled off the entire story to the unfortunate man in the seat beside him. He told about their online meeting nearly three years ago through a mutual friend, and how they became close confidants with frequent e-mails. Then about how Dagmar confessed she felt more than friendship for him and how that scared him away because he had just met who he thought was the perfect woman for him. He told how she contacted him again several months ago after they had not spoken for a few years and how the friendship started to grow again. Finally, he spoke of today- the day they would actually meet each other in person for the first time, sleep in each others arms, and find out what fate had in store for them. The stranger sitting beside him was a balding man in his late 60’s who was obviously annoyed to have been verbally forced away from his copy of Dianetics by L. Ron Hubbard. His tight-lipped smile and single head nod meant he thought this story was nothing more than a drunken piece of fiction created by a lonely British tourist who likely was traveling as the result of a boring business trip. However, this pleased Leo because he realized that few people get to have an experience like he was so close to having. So with a tipsy smile on his face he fell asleep for the rest of the plane ride and dreamed about the events that led to this day.
A few months earlier while cyber talking, a question arose from some unknown place. In a sudden impulse, he asked her how she would feel about the two of them meeting in a foreign country, somewhere neither of them had been before. Together they could experience the joys of a new land as well as of meeting each other for the very first time. Such a thought seems well planned, but actually it leaped from his mouth like a first time skydiver into the blue. Dagmar told him it was the most romantic idea anyone had ever presented to her, and truthfully, it was the most romantic idea Leo had presented to any woman in his thirty-three years. After he said it, he became increasingly aware of how much he wanted it to happen. There were plenty of beautiful women in
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London that he could have his pick of, but the mystery surrounding this American woman was far more intriguing. They trusted each other, consoled each other, but still there were so many things he didn’t know. Would she hug him with her arms around his neck or his waist? Does she push her hair behind her ears or let it fall towards her face? If they were to kiss, would it be with closed lips brushing softly against each other or would they feel compelled to keep them parted and tightly locked together?… Curiosity wasn’t killing Leo, it was making him more persistent with his instincts.
He had purposely planned to arrive at the hotel much later than Dagmar because he wanted to avoid an awkward first hello, with the both of them stumbling for the right words like amateur actors on opening night. He wanted to see her for the first time just like this- sound asleep, so calm, every bit as lovely as he had imagined. It was hard to believe this was the same feisty woman whose brutal honesty was as sharp as a dart hitting right on the mark. She flat out told him that he had ghosts from past relationships still haunting him, and that the only way to get rid of the ghosts for good is to let them know you are no longer afraid of them. She was not afraid to love him although he had broken her heart before. She believed once something is broken and has a chance to be fixed, it is stronger and you are aware how fortunate you are to have it back, holding onto it a little tighter. Seeing her now for the first time, Leo was certain this was true. Somehow, he knew she understood his pain in a way no one else ever had. For a moment, the thought that this was because he had put her through the same pain permeated his being and he shivered. But then a breeze made the curtains sway and the window gently rattled as all ghosts left with the night air. He wanted to tell Dagmar this and so many other things he could finally say in person, but he didn’t need to say anything right then. Glancing towards the clock on the wall, he saw no hands on it. Whatever time they needed was now theirs. He closed the window and climbed into bed with her, pulling the blankets snug around them both.
As close to her as he could get without waking her up, Leo would have expected the first thought running through his mind to be something purely sexual. In the midst of a genuinely sweet friendship, their conversations had often taken a risqué turn as if it led to a 24-hour convenience store with free coffee. Rather, the very first thought he had was he wished he was a painter. Then he would stay up all night painting the beautiful image before him. He’d be sure to capture every little detail, from the strands of ruby hair resting in the creases of her pillow, to the way the shadows darkened some parts of her face, leaving just enough mystery until morning. But he was satisfied knowing this beautiful image would stay forever embedded in his mind.
Leo gently took his hand and slowly ran it along Dagmar’s arm, beginning at the strap of her nightgown, along her lavender rose tattoo, down to her small
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hands. His dark fingers linked with her pale ones as if they were the missing link to a chain once broken, but far too precious to throw away. She gently stirred and turned now, facing him. Her eyes remained closed, but he knew they were miniature oceans, and come sunrise, wavy lashes would rise and spill forth gorgeous blue waves. Her breath was softly bouncing off his neck like a masseuses tender fingers, relieving any tension the four hour flight had caused. The rhythm of it was as familiar as a lullaby and it rocked him to sleep as he lay there hand in hand with her.
Leo awakened at 2am. It was too dark for him to see his surroundings, but he realized he was empty-handed. For a moment, a Titanic-like feeling came over his stomach as he thought that perhaps everything had been a dream. He reached across to the pillow next to him, but it was empty. He sat up and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. If he had been sinking before, he was now swimming ashore. Dagmar was sitting on the terrace in a wicker rocking chair. Her legs curled up against her chest, she was looking intently at the stars in the sky the way most people watch a cinema screen. The radio was playing softly. As a gentle breeze caressed the island, her red hair swayed like a well-trained hula dancer. Leo noticed she wore pewter heart shaped earrings that rocked in time with the chair. He got out of bed and put on his robe and slippers. He walked towards the terrace and slid open the glass door.
Dagmar turned towards him and for the first time, they looked into each other’s eyes. Each had expected this moment to be nervous and awkward, but instead both felt calm and certain that they were in the right place. Smiles formed on both pairs of lips in unison and for about a minute, neither spoke as they reveled in each others presence like it was a rare painting just acquired. Then Leo walked closer to her and she slowly rose from the chair. As if this was all one swift movement, she wrapped her arms tightly around him and he wrapped his around her. They stayed in this embrace for several moments and then slowly moved slightly apart each taking hold of the others arms. Dagmar spoke first in a whisper, “hey.” “Hey”, he whispered back. Both softly laughed because with all the intrigue and romance of this meeting, it would seem there should be something more profound to say than “hey”. But, at the same time, they were already close friends, so this was actually a perfect greeting. “How long have you been awake?” “About half an hour.” “I had a couple glasses of wine so I’d be able to fall asleep, otherwise I’d have been a bundle of nerves waiting for you.” He laughed; she was every bit as sweet and funny as in her e-mails. “I got drunk on the plane because I was nervous too.” They both laughed together. “Is there any wine left?” he asked. “Sure, I saved a bottle of “Red Truck” for us to share.” Dagmar poured two glasses of wine and before they raised them to their lips, Leo
held his out to clink with hers and said "To us." "To us" she replied. Together they sat and sipped. “We couldn’t have picked a better place” Leo said. “It’s so quiet and secluded, it feels like we stumbled into a secret corner of
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the world.” “It is perfect” Dagmar replied. “As is finally being with you” he said. She reached over and took hold of his hand. “Speaking of secrets” she said, “how about if we both get to ask each other any one question we want to know?” “It will be a good icebreaker.” “Hmm” he said, “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “It doesn’t have to be something deep or provocative, just anything, no matter how silly, that you don’t already know.” “Go ahead” she said, “you go first.” Leo looked at her for a moment , staring intently with a philosophical look on his face and then said “Ok, what trivial thing scares you?”, “something that doesn’t bother most people, but really frightens you.” “Wow, that is kind of deep” Dagmar said as they both laughed. “Hey, it was your idea, now go ahead and spill.” “Ok, ok.” “Jack-in-the-Boxes.” “What?!” They were both a little drunk at this point and were laughing hysterically. “Jack-in-the-Boxes scare me.” “You’re serious?” “Absolutely. When I was little, someone gave me one and it looked so pretty, a colorful box that played music when I turned the handle. I loved it. Then all of a sudden out of nowhere, this horrible looking clown jumps out at me! What kind of a toy is that for a child?! I was terrified.” Leo was laughing so hard his eyes were tearing. “Oh my God,” he said, “You’re insane. I knew it, I’m alone on a secluded island with an insane woman.” “You are” she said in a mock eerie voice. “Are you frightened?” “Nah, I feel pretty courageous these days, I’m sure I can handle you” he said with a wide grin.
“Ok,” she said as they tried to calm down from the laughter, “my turn!” “I’m ready” he said. “Aside from being here now, what would you describe as the greatest feeling in the world?” He furrowed his brow. “Aside from being here now ?” ”Yes, that’s the obvious answer” she said. “I’m not letting you off that easy, I want you to think.” “Well” he replied after a moment, “it’s a three-way tie. Being in front of an audience, great food, and sex.” “I see” she said, “so is that all at the same time?” “Perhaps if the food is spicy” he said. They both started laughing hysterically again, and he wrapped his arms around her, letting her head gently fall on his shoulder. For a few minutes they stayed that way, smiling, holding on to each other. Then a new song began to play on the radio, and Dagmar, rising from her seat, reached for Leo’s hand. “Dance with me?” she asked. He smiled, rose from the chair, and put his hands on her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder once again. “Sleepwalk” she said. “It’s my favorite instrumental.”
Dagmar was typically the nervous, shy one of the two. Her body began slightly trembling. Leo let go of her waist and placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. His persona was that of a leader, the strong one, but deep down he had his own fears and insecurities, especially where intimacy was involved. But, the more he got to know Dagmar, the more comfortable he felt being open with her. He knew she wouldn’t love him any less. She was such a rare woman, the perfect combination of sweet and sexy, and he loved discovering new things about himself as a result of their relationship. She made him want to be the best
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man he could be.
Dagmar reached her hands up and placed them on Leo’s face, gently caressing his cheeks. Then she lowered his face to hers and put their lips together like a puzzle that waited so long to be taken from its box and put together by curious hands. Now it was his turn to tremble and her turn to put her arms around him. As their lips opened, it was as if they were breathing new life into each other. The kiss that began soft like a kitten’s purr was now strong as a lion’s roar. It’s been said that people can accomplish amazing tasks during difficult situations. So perhaps it is no surprise that their entwined bodies managed to find their way inside the room, close the curtains, turn out the light, toss their robes aside, and land on the bed.
Beneath the blankets, him on top of her, their bodies were pressed firmly against each other, but it wasn’t close enough. Suddenly the pajamas between them seemed as thick as the Berlin wall, so with crane like strength, they began to tear them off. Dagmar pulled his T-shirt off and ran her fingers across Leo’s chest. He slid the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders and as she quickly wriggled out of it, she reached her hands slightly down his red silk boxer shorts, teasing him for a couple moments before sliding them off. Lying there, seconds away from being as close as they possibly could be, they stared into each other’s eyes and enjoyed the anticipation of the forthcoming pleasure. Leo kissed all along her neck until he reached the one spot that made every inch of her quiver. She whimpered like a hungry kitten and began to nibble on his ear, bringing a soft yet strong moan to his lips. It was like they were about to go on a roller coaster ride that they could control the intensity of for each other. Leo gently grasped both of her hands with his. Waiting for him to start the ride, Dagmar couldn’t move, but she didn’t want to. She had always been afraid of roller coasters, but this was different. She loved the exhilaration of feeling it rise slowly and then knowing Leo wouldn’t let her fall until she was ready. Slowly curving in sensuous loops, together they rose as high as they could go, savoring each moment like it was the last drop of water in a desert. On top of the world, it was a feeling greater than either of them had ever felt before. So in love with the moment, right then and there they thought that once they came down, they couldn’t possibly feel such incredible joy ever again. Finally when the exhilaration had them nearly breathless and they could stay that high no longer, they slowly came down in unison. Each holding the other, they landed on satin, flushed, sweaty, side by side, still looking into each other’s eyes.
Somewhere in that tiny space between midnight and sunrise, is an incredible serene that most people sleep through. The two of them lay there in the middle of darkness, their bodies still touching. Leo wrapped his arm around Dagmar’s shoulders and felt sheer comfort. They were both awake, but felt no need to speak. She rested her face on his chest and ran her fingers along his neck. Her
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breath felt soft and warm and beautiful. It was only at this moment that he realized why he had been so nervous to meet her. He loved having Dagmar’s adoration from afar. After all, not many men have a woman who tells them she loves them before they’ve physically met. And she was so adamant about it as well, it wasn’t just a one-time drunken rambling. But, in a matter of hours, all that could change. What if she took her first look at him standing in front of her, and felt nothing? What if she decided he looked better in his pictures and wasn’t so handsome in person? These thoughts really scared him. He was afraid that being right next to her, she might see him in a completely different light, and what if she didn’t like what she saw?
Although he never admitted feeling as strongly for her as she did for him, for some reason her admiration was quite important to him. He knew it was definitely more than an ego thing, but he hadn’t understood exactly what it was. Now though, holding her naked body in his arms, knowing what every inch of her felt like, and tasted like, Leo realized this was the first time he had ever truly made love. Dagmar knew his bad qualities and she never tried to deny they existed, but to her they were sheer. She saw through them and kept her eyes focused on the whole man, keenly aware that every experience brought on by a bad habit taught him important lessons that were helping to make his good qualities much clearer. It was possible that she might not be madly in love with him, but she would always love him, he was sure of that. That’s why for the first time in his life, he found it so easy to give all of himself to a woman and not be afraid of falling below perfect. Her breath was a steady rhythm now and her skin was starting to cool down. He stroked her back and she let out a soft, satisfied sigh. As gorgeous as she had looked outside in the moonlight, it was only in this pitch blackness that he had a view of her he couldn’t have seen at any other time. Not letting go of her beautiful silhouette, Leo closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep.
Dagmar was still in awe from their encounter. Not one part of it had been less than incredible. From sleeping so calmly next to this man she had never physically met before, to making love to each other without an ounce of shyness. She had a lot less experience with men then Leo had with women. When she imagined the two of them sleeping together, she pictured herself a pale goosepimply earthquake, and him the statuesque figure of calmness. Instead, their mutual nervousness dissolved into a sea of trust that began to evaporate into an air of love. They were in a foreign land, but they didn’t need any maps.
She always knew the two of them could have an incredible encounter, yet she never imagined it would be so unifying. The way Leo didn’t hide his nervousness, how he opened up to her and allowed her to comfort him. He had been emotionally hurt so badly before, Dagmar feared he might not fully open his
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heart for her. But the moment they looked into each other’s eyes, it was wide open. It didn’t matter that he had more experience because together they experienced something new that night. She let him take her on that roller coaster, knowing that he had abandoned other women after similar rides. The sea of trust washed away any doubt about his being there when the ride came down. She had had plenty of worries about their meeting. What if he took one look at her and decided she couldn’t compare to the beautiful women he knew? What if her nervousness frustrated him so much that he wasn’t attracted to her? But somehow, when something is meant to be, it just falls into place. The two of them were like a thousand piece puzzle that stays incomplete for so long, until one day it becomes suddenly so obvious where the remaining pieces fit.
It wasn’t that Dagmar knew exactly what would become of this night. Perhaps it would be the only time they ever made love. After all, they couldn’t stay on this island forever. They would eventually have to return to reality, and that was that there was an ocean between them. She would give anything to make this night last forever, to be the one woman whom he never wanted to leave, to have him look at her and say “Hey, what if we fell asleep like this every night for the rest of our lives?”. But at the same time, she was completely satisfied with the connection they had just made and if it went no further, it would be no less special. She was surprised at her realization that for the first time, she truly believed this. It was bittersweet, but comforting. And right then and there, in their room, on this island, even though she knew better, this was one of those moments that was so serendipitous, part of her believed if she held on tight enough, this night could somehow last forever. It brought a smile to her lips that grew wider upon hearing Leo’s gentle whisper in her ear, “Goodnight, my sweet Dag.”
Dag…hey Dag…something was tickling her neck. She started to open her eyes and realized how groggy she was. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the source of the tickling came into view. Long waves of blonde hair were dangling over her as a soft hand shook her shoulder. “You were in such a sound sleep honey, I almost hated to wake you.” “What time is it?” “Almost eight.” “I’ll go start breakfast and you better splash your face with some cold water.” She leaned over and pressed her body just close enough to Dagmar’s so that their breasts were touching. Then she pressed their lips together for a moment. “You look so calm and beautiful sound asleep. It reminds me of everything I love about you.” “I love you too” she replied.
Once Dagmar heard her footsteps going downstairs, she got out of bed, went over to the bureau, and pulled the envelope out from beneath a pile of sweaters. She had already memorized it by heart, but still she removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. The words on the page, his words, handwritten in ink, formed a picture of him in her mind. Dark eyes, curly hair, boyish grin, he was
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handsome and cute, a rare combination. And she was certain that when she held the letter close to her face, she could smell the scent of his skin, a scent she never knew. Although they hadn’t been in contact for a few years, thinking about him made her momentarily feel like she had gotten one of his sweet, funny emails just yesterday. Then all of a sudden a few tears fell from her eyes and landed on the page, slightly smearing the ink. She gently dabbed it with the sleeve of her robe, put the letter back in its envelope, and walked over to the window.
Leo had just finished lunch and now stood in his flat staring out the window that overlooked Tower Bridge. London windows seem to never be without raindrops on them. Just when they are about to dry up, it rains again, bringing forth a whole new set of drops. This makes the city seem like it’s in a never ending state of sorrow. Leo felt that he fit in well there today. It had been ten days since he sent her the letter and she had not yet replied. He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t respond. She used to send him beautiful postcards with pictures of places she hadn’t yet been. He still remembered what she had written on one of them:
“Years from now, I don’t know how many, maybe ten, maybe five, maybe less, but sometime from now, you could be married to a gorgeous woman, someone sexy and smart, heaven in high heels you would likely say. You know she’s an incredible woman and the two of you have a great life together, all of your friends are envious of how content you seem- seem. But there’s something inside of you, like a tiny box that you put away in the attic because you thought you knew exactly what was inside it. But suddenly for some reason you have the urge to climb through the tiny crawl space in the attic, dust off that box and take a closer look at the contents. This little box that seemed so insignificant years ago is now busting at the seams. You can’t help but wonder about this little missing piece of your life, what might have happened if years ago you had thrown reason in the trash and just done the spontaneous thing, jumped on a plane like it was as easy as sitting down at your kitchen table. Whoever you’re meant to end up with you do, no matter what, fate never takes a day off . Still, life is full of experiences for us, some meaningless for sure, but think about the others. When I was a little girl, my favorite toy was a Viewmaster. I would hold it up to my eyes and click on all the different images. They went around in a circle, I could go back to any one I wanted any time. But is life like that? Can we go back and take another look at missed images, or do they fade away forever if we don’t keep them in view?”
Despite how sad he was feeling, thinking of her words made him smile. She always rambled off long sentences when she was nervous about saying something important. God he missed her. He never knew it could be possible to miss someone so much who he had never even met in person. He never
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regretted anything more than he regretted breaking contact with her. She always seemed so far away to him, but she spoke as if they were right around the corner from each other. No one had ever been like that with him before and it scared him a little. Since she seemed so far away, he expected it to be easy to let go of her.
He thought about the woman he had woken up next to this morning. She definitely fit the description of heaven in high heels. She had swept him off his feet a year ago at a time when he was certain his life would always be a continuous path down these London streets with the same dull, familiar faces around every corner. Then one day she was there. He couldn’t hide his attraction and she never gave him reason to. It felt alright to be where he was. She was like finding a first-class blanket in the coach section. It was convenient and comfortable. And he loved her, he really did. But a few months ago she had shocked him by announcing that she might be pregnant. All of a sudden it hit him that this could be the woman he woke up to every morning for the rest of his life. Contentment wasn’t the feeling that followed that thought. Lately he was beginning to see the difference between love and being in love. Being in love meant that you were content with the experiences you had had thus far and were ready to have new experiences that this other person would always be a part of from now on. Leo knew he had what he always said he wanted, and he kept telling himself he should leave well enough alone and be happy. But there was that unopened box. And then a few weeks ago, he was listening to the radio and “Sleepwalk” came on. It had always been her favorite instrumental song. Right then he knew he had to take a chance and contact her. He looked deep into the sky, and for a moment being as silly as she, he thought if he stared hard enough he might be able to capture her gaze, get her to look into his eyes and see if maybe there was a tiny part of her that missed him as well.
Still holding the letter, Dagmar was focused on the clouds in the sky. They were getting lighter and a small ray of sun was peeking through. She reached for her deck of Tarot cards that she read each day. The room was beginning to shake as it did every morning around this time when the neighbors had sex after their kids had gone off to day camp. Dagmar watched the hula dancer figurine on her desk wiggle its hips and it seemed to be swaying to a familiar tune she had not heard in so long. She glanced back up at the sky and shuffled the deck of cards. “Coffee’s ready honey!” “Are you coming?” a sweet voice called to her from downstairs. Before she had a chance to answer, one of the cards she was shuffling fell from the deck and landed face up by her feet. Even before she looked at it, she knew which one it was.
The End
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