Dog with a Blog
Remember Me
W.T. Roberts
1
It was night. Rain poured down in torrents. Thunder pealed, louder than any cannon fire. Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating Pasadena for a few ominous seconds. No one, at least anyone in their right mind, would dare brave the streets of South town. Still, one lone figure briskly pranced down the deserted, dark sidewalk, albeit without purpose. It, or rather, she, was solely intent on her current emotional baggage. The fact that the pouring rain had soaked her clothes beyond any hope of drying, or that she was so damn cold her body ached and shivered, had no appeal for her. Only the fact that she had been vulnerable, and had allowed herself to be hurt once again, dominated her mind. Yet even with her hair, normally very immaculate, drenched and wrapped about her lily-white neck, and her aesthetically pleasing makeup smeared and wet, the lass still managed to look rather nice. And not-so-nice is how she would have ended up if a pair of strong arms enveloped her and heaved her out of the path of the careening vehicle. Initially, the shock had driven the girl to strike her abductor, but when a semblance of calm returned, she attempted to offer up a word of thanks. Her rescuer, when the lass could get a good hard look at him, simply waved her flattery aside, declaring it was his duty. Then, in a tenderer voice, he asked, "Are you hurt?" "I-I don't think so…" the girl's words trailed off. Gazing over to a canopied bench, the lad gingerly took his charge's hand, leading her over to the gazebo. She tucked her still-soaked skirt under her legs and sat, but not before he removed the greatcoat from his broad shoulders to place it on her delicate ones. To the lass's surprise, the coat was dry on the inside; she bundled up, staving off some of the cold. The lad then seated himself next to her, but giving her a wide berth so not to startle the girl. "Now," he intoned. "What was a lovely girl like you doing in such perilous weather?" The lass was silent for a pregnant moment – the silence between them seemed only to fuel the intensity of the maelstrom – unsure of if she could trust this dapper stranger. Still, his question was valid, and deserved a response, so she replied, "I was on a date." The young man, taken aback, waited for her to continue. "It was supposed to be with the perfect guy." Even without her emphasis in the phrase, it was obvious that said guy was not as perfect as once thought. For awhile, all was quiet between the pair; one who's beauty was so that there was no word or sentence – hell, not even a paragraph - that could describe her fully. And the other, so unremarkable, so simple; yet as such that he defied explanation. As their eyes met, the girl saw sorrow, pain, regret, and very little else. Here was a man that had been places, and done things, that were at odds with his morals. In hers, the lad saw innocence, intelligence, and most importantly, loneliness; a loss of purpose, if you will. In the meantime, the squalor had lessened. The young lad stood, offering his companionship to the young lady for the trek home. She conceded, and they walked, albeit a bit slow, as they yearned to know one another better. Soon, they arrived at the girl's residence. The lass attempted to return the borrowed coat, but her acquaintance wouldn't hear of it, claiming, "You need it more than I." The lass smiled shyly, then turned about to prance elegantly to the door of her home. Suddenly, she whirled around. "I didn't get your name." she called out after him. "Jonas." he said plainly, offering up a hint of a smile. "I'm Avery." She said quietly.
As if the door was listening, it flew open to reveal a worried yet thankful Ellen. "Thank God you're safe." Mother chided daughter as they embraced warmly. Finally registering, Ellen peeled the three-sizes-too-large greatcoat from Avery's frame. "Where did you get this monstrosity?" Ellen wondered aloud as she proceeded to add said coat to the laundry load. Avery stood in the foyer, saying, "A friend."