I wrote this down before looking at the finale -matter of fact, I haven't seen it yet, so no spoilers in your reviews if you don't mind- and while I was listening to a seminar about the impact of internet, social media and social forums on Small and medium budinesses. Story is inspired by the movies Practical Magic- Only, there was no magic in our show, if not the amazing chemistry between our lead actors.
The summer of her twelve years was the one she loved and hated the most at the same time; the pain for her mother's loss was still fresh in young Teresa's heart, as was the one for seeing the monster her father could turn himself to.
And then… then, for Summer Break, came salvation, in the form of her mother's sister, Alice.
Alice was the only one who dared to speak- dared to not defend the man who kept turning on his children. But back then it was another time, another world; people- especially family- didn't speak with outsiders when such things happened. Like the three monkeys, they didn't see, heard not utter a word.
Alice couldn't take away the four siblings from their father- especially when he was so good at putting on a mask for society, the brave and fearless firefighter, the heartbroken widower – but… she could take them with herself for Summer vacation in her California home. At least.
Teresa knew that she should have been happy, glad and thankful for the opportunity, but every day the resentment in her heart just kept getting stronger; she and the boys were having fun, were being regular kids just once in their life, like it hadn't happened in quite a while. And then… then what? Just a few weeks and they would be getting back to reality. And it would be just worse, because they would remember being happy and carefree, and they would know that nothing like that would happen ever again.
All because her father was frail. All because he was heartbroken. All because of love.
She wasn't going to end up like her father. Not in a million of years.
On her last night there, under the starry sky, right before a bonfire, she took an old fountain pen and paper turned yellow by time and dust, and with misty, glossy eyes, she wrote her wish.
He will hear my call a mile away, will always know when I'm in danger. He'll whistle my favorite song and always know what's going through my mind. His best friend will be an elephant and he can ride a pony backward. He can flip pancakes in the air, and yet his favorite breakfast is eggs and he loves tea. He'll be marvelously kind at times, and extremely stubborn others, but always curios. His eyes are the same color as the sea, and his favorite shape will be a star…
That's how I want my perfect love to be.
T.
She sealed the prayer in a bottle and threw it in the Ocean, sobbing, hoping against all hope that it was true- that there was a touch of magic in every woman- and that her wish would come true.
Because if her Prince Charming didn't exist… then, she would never love, and if her heart wasn't going to know love, she'd never end up broken-hearted like her sorry father.
He loved walking alongside the shore late at night, when people wasn't around any longer. He loved the peace and quiet, and that nobody- not even his own father- was there to tell him what he was supposed to do and say.
Just him, the soothing waves of the Ocean of California and the starry sky.
He was grinning cynically, despite being just a teenager, because he already knew what tomorrow would be bringing, and he was aware that the peace would be only temporary, when he was hit but something on the leg- an object brought by the tide. He stared at it, then he picked it up, and inspected it with curiosity, just like it was natural for him.
It was a wine bottle- and that wasn't strange, as too many people didn't respect the Ocean and threw away things that didn't belong there- but what awoke his curiosity was the old piece of paper sealed inside the bottle.
He smiled amused- a sincere smile, so rare for him- and he broke the bottle on a rock, immediately taking the sheet of paper in his hands; even before unrolling it, he started to wonder, as it was natural for his curios nature: was it going to be in English? Was it old or new? Who had written it, and what was the story of the mysterious writer? And what was going to be there?
"What?..." he wondered as he read the words written by the girl. He'd bet it was a young woman- by the calligraphy, as old as him, if not younger- and it had to be recent by the coloring of the ink.
Where was T, and who was she? Teresa, Tracie, Trina… so many names, so many places she could be, and yet he looked around, hoping against hope that the bottle had come from that very same seaside, and that she was there, in that moment, with him; that she had just threw the bottle in that very instant and he had immediately found it.
He knew it was impossible, and yet he checked anyway, and when he didn't find her there, he felt a little heart-broken. Because… because even if he didn't know her, even if he was cynical… even if he had already a girlfriend….
He had fallen, hard and fast for her words, and he felt in his heart the desire to soothe her troubled spirit, be the boy – the man- she had written about in her prayer.
Chuckling, he rolled his eyes at his own stupidity; there was no way they'd meet, and besides, he was way too practical to dream about Princes Charming and Sleeping Beauties.
Even if he was almost everything she had written about.
He had never had tea, after all. But maybe he could try it out. Maybe he could come to love it. Even if he was sure he would never meet T in his whole life.
And yet… yet, he still folded the piece of paper and put it in his wallet, where it stood for a very long time, until he didn't put it between the pages of his favorite book.
And then… then, his life was too much, and then nothing at all, and he almost forgot all about it.
Almost being the practical word.
He knew she had a deepness he kept hidden, layer after layer she didn't show anyone. That was why, sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if she was his T.
But then, he would chuckle, and he would reprimand himself, for, as he had learnt, life couldn't be that fair, that good.
And besides, despite her hidden layers, Agent Teresa Lisbon was just too hard-assed to have written such words.
The first time they had met, the breath had died in her throat, and she had wondered if her Irish Grandmother's words couldn't be true, that there was a touch of magic in everywoman. Because…
Because he was almost everything she had written about so many years before, on that starry Californian night.
But every time she would think so, she would reprimand herself, for even if she believed in God she knew that magic didn't exist. And even if it did, she had desired an impossible man, one that just couldn't walk the Earth.
He just couldn't be him.
No way.
Even if, year after year, time after time, she kept discovering new things about him, kept seeing he was getting closer and closer to be her ideal man, the protagonist of her teenage dreams.
And yet… he couldn't be. She didn't want him to.
Even if he loved tea and eggs for breakfast, and growing up his best friend had been an elephant, even if his eyes were the same color as the ever-changing sea.
They were putting books on the shelves of their new place- the home he had made with his own hands, for the two of them – and the book she had in her hands fell on the cold marble floor, alongside her butt.
"Ouch." She grunted, massaging her sore backside.
Jane, very worried, run immediately at her side, and he helped her to stood once again on her feet, and once done so, he tenderly kissed her nose, and smiled of that honest-to-God smile she had always been victim to.
"Are you all right?" She could see he was still worried. They both knew she was hard-assed, but given his history and how much he loved her, she guessed few things couldn't be helped- and she didn't even minded it too much, at times.
"Just my pride got hurt." She joked.
Jane ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head. His eyes fell on the cover of the book, and further inspection revealed it to be his favorite book while growing up- a volume he had almost forgotten about and hadn't seen in quite a while.
"Wait Jane, there's still something, I guess?" Where the book had fallen, there was still a piece of paper, folded in four, old and yellow-y because of time and dust, something that didn't seem to have anything to do with the book, and yet, Teresa knew that it was just where it came from. "I think it was in the book."
Jane chuckled as he opened the frail, old piece of paper, and Teresa could see that his mind had gone somewhere else- but, if his smile was of any indication, it was indeed an happy room in his memory palace.
"I can't believe it was still here after so many years…" Teresa looked at him, wondering what he meant, and if he was up to something. God only knew if there was time- one- that Patrick Jane didn't have a secret agenda of his own. "Relax woman, it's nothing bad, just something I've found in a bottle when I was a kid."
He blushed as he said so, a rarity for him, and Teresa immediately got the hit: it had to be about a girl, and given his whole behavior, said girl wasn't his late wife.
"You already pretended to be Prince Charming while growing up?" she teased him, crossing her arms.
"It's not like that." He defended himself, pouting. "I didn't even know her. This is a letter I found in the ocean. Sort of."
"How did you "sort of" find a bottle in the ocean?" Teresa wondered at loud.
"Oh, no, I mean that it's a sort of letter. It's more or less a list of qualities that this T wanted her future husband to possess. Since I saw myself in it, I kept it."
Teresa chuckled. "And on top of pretending to be Prince Charming, you were already oh, so modest even as a kid."
"No, really, listen." He read the list again, for the first time after years, for the first time at loud and for someone else- he had never sheared this little secret with anyone, not even with Angela.
"Teresa?" he asked once he was done, as he saw her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She shook her head, and simply told him that it was sweet- that he was sweet.
He kissed her lips quickly, and took back the book the get the note back in its rightful place, but before he could do it, Teresa stopped him, an hand on his shoulder.
"Wait. Maybe we could frame it as a memento of our life in California. Or… we could put it in a bottle of wine, just like when you found it, and find a nice place in the house for it?" Saying so, she took from his hands the folded piece of paper, and she put it away, in a safe place, until she couldn't find the right bottle where to store it. At her back, Jane shook his head, then he joined his wife, and hugged her from behind, his hands resting carefully on her belly as he kissed the back of her neck. He felt her heart racing, the heat increasing as she blushed more and more.
She knew.
She knew that he knew.
He had never said anything about the bottle of wine, and if she hadn't guessed- which she never did- there was only one way she could have known such a piece of information.
She was T. Just like in his teenage dreams, he had finally meet her. And he was hers and she was his, just like he had childishly hoped for when he was so young. He was her perfect love.
She turned into his embrace, linking her arms around his neck.
"You know, I think it's time I tell you the story of the girl who didn't want to fall in love…."