TRUE LOVE WAITS
She was waiting for him, still. It didn't take a genius to see it. Every day she would stand on the street corner and stand. She was untouchable; she would not speak, and she would not look at anyone for more than a few moments. If she did take her eyes away from the road and look up at you out of bottomless gray, it would not be for long, and you would almost be able to smell her fear. She would grace you with a slight, distracted smile, and return her gaze immediately, as if she was afraid of missing something.
It would rain, sometimes, but she never seemed to notice. She would just wait for him, whoever he was. It bothered the people on the streets, and inside the coffee shop on the corner. They would look out at her, standing on the corner. They would see her long black hair drenched by the rainwater, and they would see her wrap her arms tightly around herself. They would see her out there by herself, and they would not understand. The warmth of the shop would press in around their ears, and they would turn away.
They would turn away just as surely as she refused to do so. They would sip their coffee, uncomfortably aware that standing only a handful of feet away was a woman that was still longing for someone, or something. She could not—or would not—move on. She could not take the few steps into the shop. She could not take the few steps to cross the street. All she could do was stand, and wait.
Every so often people would try to approach her and offer her a ride somewhere. One such time she almost—almost laughed. It was right there, under the bone-deep stillness that had settled upon her like a mantle. Her lips had curved, and she looked almost apologetic.
She was sorry, she had explained, but she was still waiting for him. They had arranged to meet here, and—
She was not the sort of person to break a promise.
As the years passed, the local flavor had added her to their legends. She was a priestess in a past life, the men whispered as they retold the story, slouched over their tables with their hats pulled low. Beaded necklaces jangled as the men leaned closer. Cloth rustled as the waitress strained to hear their quiet mutters. Half-finished cups of coffee were left unattended. The door's bell rang as a newcomer walked hesitantly into the quiet room. A heavy, sulky trumpet wound out of the battered radio, and a man snapped his newspaper suddenly, irritated with the almost reverent silence.
Yes, a priestess.
Hurry; go on, a woman urged. She was late for an appointment already.
And she fell in love with a man.
Eyes, lifting briefly to rest on the woman on the corner. The businesswoman reached out to tap him impatiently. Appointment, she reminded him, and he snapped at her. If her damn appointment was so important she could just hurry the hell along. She drew back, subdued.
So she fell in love, then?
But she was destined to love another, another man added. He had waited two lifetimes for her. Sadly. Regretfully.
But... what happened? What's she doing here? Why—
All that time ago, he died. The man.
She's waiting for him, then? The woman's eyes were drawn inexorably towards the shivering figure on the corner. The rain pounded down, soaking right through her clothes. A child offered her an umbrella, and was rewarded with a smile and a small negative movement.
She's waiting for him.
Wasn't that silly? The woman wanted to know. If it had all happened in the past, couldn't she move on? The odds of two people meeting up after death.... Well, it was a silly dream, she opined, standing and placing her money on the table. Someone should—
True love waits.
The woman walked away. She had never heard the story before. She wasn't expected to like, or even understand the story. It wasn't hers to understand. The only person it had to make sense to was her. The woman on the corner. The woman that would probably spend the rest of eternity waiting for that familiar face and that flash of a smile.
He stood and waved a goodbye to the coffee shop women behind the counter. Their dark, gleaming lips moved and called out varied farewells, and begged him to return soon. Distracted slightly by the reflection of his silver hair across the room, he offered them a canned response and slid out the door. He was soaked immediately, the rain chilling him to his very bones. The cold didn't matter. How could he complain, while she stood there with her back towards him, perpetually waiting for—
His eyes slid to the prayer beads tangled tightly around her fingers.
A moment, brought on by the sting of rain and the smell of flowers somewhere on the street, descended upon him and he wondered if, for him, she would forget that other smile. Forget that other laugh, and the other touch. Wondered if he could get her to remember the time before, when her eyes had only seen him. Wondered if he could be the one her whole heart longed for, but then he saw her grip on the beads tighten, and watched her thumb run gently over the familiar surface and he knew that she'd wait.
It had to have been that smile. That smile and those violet eyes....
He turned away from her and began the long, wet walk to his apartment several blocks away. His back crawled and he was suddenly and irrationally certain that she had turned and was watching him with large, luminous eyes and hope swelled up inside of him and he spun around with a smile on his face and—
The smile dropped away and that feeble hope stumbled, and then fell. He turned back around, and felt sure that the rain fell harder.
True love waits.
He knew that.
Yeah....
He kept walking.
She was waiting for him, still. It didn't take a genius to see it. Every day she would stand on the street corner and stand. She was untouchable; she would not speak, and she would not look at anyone for more than a few moments. If she did take her eyes away from the road and look up at you out of bottomless gray, it would not be for long, and you would almost be able to smell her fear. She would grace you with a slight, distracted smile, and return her gaze immediately, as if she was afraid of missing something.
It would rain, sometimes, but she never seemed to notice. She would just wait for him, whoever he was. It bothered the people on the streets, and inside the coffee shop on the corner. They would look out at her, standing on the corner. They would see her long black hair drenched by the rainwater, and they would see her wrap her arms tightly around herself. They would see her out there by herself, and they would not understand. The warmth of the shop would press in around their ears, and they would turn away.
They would turn away just as surely as she refused to do so. They would sip their coffee, uncomfortably aware that standing only a handful of feet away was a woman that was still longing for someone, or something. She could not—or would not—move on. She could not take the few steps into the shop. She could not take the few steps to cross the street. All she could do was stand, and wait.
Every so often people would try to approach her and offer her a ride somewhere. One such time she almost—almost laughed. It was right there, under the bone-deep stillness that had settled upon her like a mantle. Her lips had curved, and she looked almost apologetic.
She was sorry, she had explained, but she was still waiting for him. They had arranged to meet here, and—
She was not the sort of person to break a promise.
As the years passed, the local flavor had added her to their legends. She was a priestess in a past life, the men whispered as they retold the story, slouched over their tables with their hats pulled low. Beaded necklaces jangled as the men leaned closer. Cloth rustled as the waitress strained to hear their quiet mutters. Half-finished cups of coffee were left unattended. The door's bell rang as a newcomer walked hesitantly into the quiet room. A heavy, sulky trumpet wound out of the battered radio, and a man snapped his newspaper suddenly, irritated with the almost reverent silence.
Yes, a priestess.
Hurry; go on, a woman urged. She was late for an appointment already.
And she fell in love with a man.
Eyes, lifting briefly to rest on the woman on the corner. The businesswoman reached out to tap him impatiently. Appointment, she reminded him, and he snapped at her. If her damn appointment was so important she could just hurry the hell along. She drew back, subdued.
So she fell in love, then?
But she was destined to love another, another man added. He had waited two lifetimes for her. Sadly. Regretfully.
But... what happened? What's she doing here? Why—
All that time ago, he died. The man.
She's waiting for him, then? The woman's eyes were drawn inexorably towards the shivering figure on the corner. The rain pounded down, soaking right through her clothes. A child offered her an umbrella, and was rewarded with a smile and a small negative movement.
She's waiting for him.
Wasn't that silly? The woman wanted to know. If it had all happened in the past, couldn't she move on? The odds of two people meeting up after death.... Well, it was a silly dream, she opined, standing and placing her money on the table. Someone should—
True love waits.
The woman walked away. She had never heard the story before. She wasn't expected to like, or even understand the story. It wasn't hers to understand. The only person it had to make sense to was her. The woman on the corner. The woman that would probably spend the rest of eternity waiting for that familiar face and that flash of a smile.
He stood and waved a goodbye to the coffee shop women behind the counter. Their dark, gleaming lips moved and called out varied farewells, and begged him to return soon. Distracted slightly by the reflection of his silver hair across the room, he offered them a canned response and slid out the door. He was soaked immediately, the rain chilling him to his very bones. The cold didn't matter. How could he complain, while she stood there with her back towards him, perpetually waiting for—
His eyes slid to the prayer beads tangled tightly around her fingers.
A moment, brought on by the sting of rain and the smell of flowers somewhere on the street, descended upon him and he wondered if, for him, she would forget that other smile. Forget that other laugh, and the other touch. Wondered if he could get her to remember the time before, when her eyes had only seen him. Wondered if he could be the one her whole heart longed for, but then he saw her grip on the beads tighten, and watched her thumb run gently over the familiar surface and he knew that she'd wait.
It had to have been that smile. That smile and those violet eyes....
He turned away from her and began the long, wet walk to his apartment several blocks away. His back crawled and he was suddenly and irrationally certain that she had turned and was watching him with large, luminous eyes and hope swelled up inside of him and he spun around with a smile on his face and—
The smile dropped away and that feeble hope stumbled, and then fell. He turned back around, and felt sure that the rain fell harder.
True love waits.
He knew that.
Yeah....
He kept walking.