A/N: No part of the following is based on or taken from the work of Jonathan Safran Foer.
Illuminated
His lips curve slowly into a tight smile.
"The lights are so beautiful," she says. "Will you stay a little longer and enjoy the night?"
He thanks her, but politely declines because of an early appointment the next morning.
There is no appointment.
The momentary flicker of... something... in her eyes says she knows otherwise.
He leaves with a vision of a silhouette, a stationary figure, against bright lights, those intense enough to hurt the eyes, blazing and twinkling in what would be total darkness. She can only stare back without a word.
He returns a week later, this time with flowers, a book for the little girl, and all afternoon to spend.
The joy that sparkles in her eyes when she sees him is only made more evident in the way that she laughs at the stories he tells, the sincerity of her smile when they discuss their favorite subjects, and the warmth of her touch when she makes contact with a friendly gesture.
The day goes by far too quickly.
"Won't you stay?" she asks, already knowing the answer.
Again he apologizes.
The little girl looks disappointed.
He wants to stay. Can't find the words to...
He tells her he'll call when he gets time off from work.
"Right," she says, without sarcasm. An empty affirmative.
She says that she has a favor to ask. Can he look after her daughter for the day? There's been an emergency at work.
"Sure," he answers, not really giving the idea much thought. "Don't worry about it."
He asks the child where she'd like go.
"The park," she exclaims, beaming. "The one in the center of the city, you know?"
He laughs. "Of course."
- - - - -
A breeze gently lifts the leaves off the ground, the trees painted orange nearby.
He likes to think that he's used to the weather now. The contrast here is startling; the sun doesn't bake the earth all year round.
His thoughts are interrupted when the girl slips her hand into his. They continue walking along the winding pathways while she hums a tune that sounds familiar, but that he can't quite place.
As they reach a small bridge passing over a steep incline in the ground, she stops and looks up at the man beside her.
"Why can't you come here more often?" she asks him, eyes unblinking. "It gets lonely."
"Lonely?" He tilts his head. "But you have your mom and your friends, don't you?"
She nods. "But it's lonely without daddy around. I never see him. And mom is always at work. And I can't play with my friends every day."
The wind raises the back of her jacket and, all around, people are starting to leave. Families, friends, couples.
He tells her they should leave too. It's cold and it's getting late.
She doesn't break her gaze. "Why?" she asks. "Don't you like me? Don't you like mom?"
"Of course I do," he replies, feeling his chest tightening.
"Then why don't you ever stay?" she wonders aloud.
He falters a bit, but says that he's very busy.
"Too busy for mommy?" she asks.
He doesn't answer.
- - - - -
She thanks him for taking care of her daughter and looks as if she's about to say something more.
He apologizes. He has to go.
She tells him she can't believe he has work on a Saturday night.
Waving a goodbye, he says that he'll call soon and closes the door before any more words can be exchanged. He takes the steps down two at a time. No chance to stop, no time to think. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the city goers before he even opens the door.
The lights are stunning. He steps into the busy street and the world around him is alight and alive. He believes it to be Daytime's hidden counterpart, this gem.
It almost stings.
On the train ride home, he vaguely recalls that she had dressed up more than usual.
No calls. No letters. For a month, nothing.
Too many memories assaulting his mind. The pattern is murderous: Commitment, failure. Commitment, failure. Commitment... loneliness.
Work keeps him occupied for a while.
But he knows he's fooling himself, even though he's away from everything that tied him down before. Physically, anyway.
- - - - -
A gray sky this morning.
He decides he will make the trip later that day. Surprise her.
Three hours by train. A bit more confidence is mustered.
He has come to apologize, a gesture with which he has become uncomfortably intimate, in person for the lack of communication between them, and he can't convince himself that it's only for the month that just passed.
When he knocks on the apartment door, he expects to see her either smiling back at him, relieved that he has finally returned, or with her mouth dropping with the disbelief that he has the nerve to show his face again, out of the blue once more.
A man answers. He's good-looking enough, tall, clean cut. Asks what he can do for him.
He takes a second to find his voice. He hears her in the background asking who's at the door.
"Nothing," he murmurs. "Wrong floor."
The dumpster on the street doesn't smell quite as bad that night with the added scent of a bouquet of flowers.
Another week passes. He can't stop... He wants to... No.. Yes..
He tries to stop thinking about her. Life he's missing.
Don't do it, his mind warns. Don't let it break you again. You'll just end up like before.
"Shut up," he says to himself. Self-pity doesn't do a damn thing.
He grabs his coat.
- - - - -
This time, that man isn't there.
"What are you doing here?" Her expression is not warm. "Just felt like dropping by again?"
The heat rises in his cheeks. "You had company last time," he can't help saying, words thick with resentment.
Her eyebrows knit together. "Excuse me?" She doesn't think she's heard right. "What business is that of yours?"
When he doesn't answer immediately, she turns around and walks to the large window. The glass spans the entire length of the wall.
He steps inside and the door clicks shut.
She turns back. "I just don't get it. What do you want me to do? You never call. I don't want to raise her hopes." She motions toward her daughter's bedroom. "And as far as I'm concerned, I think it's within my right to see whomever I wish." Her voice does not soften. "He's a nice man. And at least he returns my calls." She eyes him directly.
The mention of the nameless man ignites something. He hates it.
"You don't love him," he says, approaching her without hesitation.
She'd like to step back, but she has yet to refuse a challenge proposed by him.
"Don't..." she begins. "Don't tell me what my feelings are. You don't know. You don't know how I've just needed someone to talk to, someone to be with-"
"Yes, I do know," he interrupts. The anger is contagious. "You're not the only one with ghosts. Does the phrase 'failed relationship' ring a bell?"
She makes to interject, but he continues. "Or how about 'almost-wedding'? There are some things that take a little time to forget."
She scoffs. "Forget? How nice. I have a daughter, in case you forgot," she hisses, moving closer to his face. "I don't have the luxury of disregarding my past, and yet, at least I'm capable of moving forward at the same time."
"Right, and that guy fits your definition of 'moving forward'?" He doesn't blink.
She tries not to scream in outrage.
"What the hell do you want from me?!" she cries, briefly wondering if her daughter is listening.
It's so fast.
He grabs her shoulders and presses her against the large window; kisses her fiercely.
She tries to push him away. The effort is half-hearted. For a moment, the rage, the passion, and the exhaustion cast out any sense of moral wrongdoing.
He hasn't yet let go when they can both taste the salty tears running down her cheeks.
She knows she should slap him, scream at him.
She runs a hand through his hair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the glow behind the woman's body; the lights are astounding.
The snow falls quickly and quietly. The white that carpets the city – the streets, the buildings, the trees – is literally dazzling.
He reaches his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.
The sun has long set.
"Will you stay with me?" she says. "The night takes my breath away."
He smiles.
The radiance of the city embraced by the light of the moon only electrifies the warm sensation in his heart. In her heart. And they know that it's the most wonderful place to be.
When everything is illuminated.