A Impulsa Caerula Nubes
'Adam. Autumn is my favourite time of year, being outside, breathing in sea air, after coming from a bustling, polluted city is bliss. I'm heading to Cafe Metro tomorrow morning, if you'd like to join me? I'd very much like that. Say nine? Its okay if you don't, but please, do let me know. Night, Grace.'
Adam chuckled reading this, putting his coffee mug back on the drainer. Getting out of the city limits sounded good. A quick shower, changing into fresh, albeit black clothing, Adam left his apartment, deciding to make a stop off at The Time Machine before he met up with his friend...
Adam stepped off the tram, unaware of people's eyes on him. His head didn't blare warnings, didn't tell him of people's discomfort at seeing a half man-half robot? No 'beep-boops,' no strained movement from lack of oiling. They were never quite sure, their minds whirring, gears stuck. They could use some of Grace's WD40, the man thought, masking laughter with a mouth-covering stretch. Clean air was a welcome inhale from the city's fumes, as the man made his way to the docks.
From a distance, distinctly Grace, Adam knew, was wearing a blue dress, vertical white lines down the pleated skirt. He looked as he walked, deciding stopping and staring would look creepy. Casual Grace startled him, his steps slowing. Her hair was down, swishing with the wind, the sun revealing odd strands of gold. She'd see him, the man knew, he was strolling at the pace of a snail.
She did, smiling brightly. Attention taken from the warm, glorious rays, the woman's light the only thing in his vision. He saw her, became aware of her happy mood, her body facing towards him, giving him her full attention using his brain, revelling, the only waves he saw were those of the sea, rising and falling softly on beige sands. He swallowed, throat dry. Sea air kept him level headed, living in a city had him forget how much he enjoyed life's simpler pleasures. Recalling his youth, sitting on a dock, hand in hand with his latest 'crush,' salty breeze reassuring. Words went with the swift air, confessed silliness, which, at the time felt real, promises made, not kept, though they remained friends.
Grace was a friend, near a dock, a hairsbreadth away now. His past recollections cheered him, spurring him on.
Grace blinked away flutters, holding up a menu.
"There's a reason why I am wearing this. Its not for the weather." She pushed out her stomach. "Its roomy, elastic, so, the pancakes I have been staring at for a while officially have my name on them."
Adam took the menu, curtailing her comments with quaint chuckles.
"The pancake batter bottle, next to the third box of Magic Gnome. Observant."
He winked. Grace flushed muted pink.
"Tis my job to be, dear."
She stuck out the tip of her tongue, not quite childish, but getting there, past the middle bar...
"If I order these, tell me you'll help me eat them? I have a weakness for carbs, sweet carbs specifically. This may be stretchy, but I still wish to be able to fit in it."
Slyness decorated glazed emeralds, fingers placed on a twitching, working jaw, thumbing the hairs there.
"Can't have it snapping, it'd fall off."
Grace kept Adam's hint going, deciding, 'fuck it.' There weren't many people around to hear them...
"Not outside, no. At least I can change indoors..."
The woman not clarifying where were hands, grabbing Adam's head, spinning it. He went to retort, but shut right on up when a server walked over, and began speaking with her.
Grace handed him the menu, pointing to the pancakes she dare not try, get her mouth around accents, unknown syllables. The man laughed, nodding casually. Grace smiled in return, friendly, using manners she'd been brought up with from a very young age.
Adam growling snapped her head around, her eyebrows raised.
"Was that jealousy, I hear?" She grew concerned, genuinely so. "Adam. If I must tell you, that young man isn't a patch on you. Dating younger feels wrong, if my mind takes me, it gets slightly, predatory. No harm meant, but, well, you get it, right?"
Concern shifted to uncertainty, hoping Adam would nod.
"Speaking of," another tangent, "I see a few patches of skin showing through your beard. Don't worry," the server came back, taking two mugs, two pots of tea and jug of milk off a tray, placing them onto the table, before leaving, "he can't even grow one. Its called dating, not babysitting."
Adam choked on swallowed saliva. Voice gruff, he just about got out coherent reassurance.
"I wasn't worried."
Grace looked out, onto the sea, following a sunbeam, her eyes glimmering, brown lightening, golden hue. The man hadn't had the option to look into her eyes properly, only seeing her in darkened spaces. They looked one shade there, coffee without creamer. They gave the same warmth a cup would. They radiated feeling, windows to her heart. She rarely hid anything from him, honesty her vice, her bane. But, also, he found it endearing, charming. Her reality was that of tranquillity, cordiality, ardour.
Here? That and more, camo-green revealed curiosity, wisdom beyond her years, beyond her job...
Her voice pulled him from cogitation.
"I seem to lose my reason with you. Should I be concerned?"
"I know Frank is. Reckon he thinks I'm 'corrupting' you."
The woman snorted, drips of tea finding a crease of her mouth. She swallowed.
"Likely thinks me a fool."
Adam let out a quick breath, a huff, preemptive of something big, an announcement.
"I had C.A.S.I.E turned off."
Grace ruminated.
"See things as they are? I'm not sure what they do, though I assume they do the thinking for you?"
"To put it bluntly? Yes. See right through anyone, or anything."
Cerebration became an aslant smile.
"You could see through me? All of it?"
She looked down, specifically at her chest. Adam followed her, cautious, looking for a second, then back up.
"Not your clothes. The irony is, I became a psychologist, despite never wanting to be."
"I did because I wanted to be. My penchant was, always will be guidance, advice, give people a hand to hold. I'd like to think I am proficient at that. I've heard profuse quarrels, exchanges limited to hushed profanities simply because of my presence, arguments start, get heated, then end, usually with an agreement they'd stop trying to rip one another's throats out."
She clasped her hands together, seeing the waiter makes his way to their table with a tray, a plate full of pancakes atop it. She thanked him, took a sip of tea, and picked up utensils.
The first bite of sweetened breakfast has the woman struggling to reign in contented hums. Adam washed down a bite with tea, offering a question, one Grace had sort of expected, she wasn't sure how 'serious' they were, however...
"Ever wanted kids?"
Pancake swallowed, the woman cut up some more.
"When I was young? Yes. I didn't think on specifics, only that making them was fun."
She giggled.
"Christ, I sound like a teen again. Ahem. Lets restart. I did, though, at some point, that maternal instinct began fading. My work took most of my time up, my ex talked about children, saying he'd prefer to have them when he was older. He wanted to get a few decades of work in before starting a family, as did I. Now? I'm nearing forty, and I have zero interest in motherhood. That sounded terrible."
Adam shook his head.
"Not at all. My circumstances were similar, except for Megan wanting kids. She never did, she made that abundantly clear. I wasn't about to question, push her on it. I find kids gravitate towards me. I do have a paternal instinct, but only for other people's children. Can't imagine having my own."
Grace knew that one.
"Children like me, a lot, hugging my knees, wanting to be held. I get a strange feeling, like I should run. I don't, but still, kids try. They see me as maternal maybe?"
"You have a calm tone, you carry yourself with care, grace. Kids pick up on someone decent. You notice they avoid angry people? That's why."
"Angry makes most upset." She ate around snaffles. "More of an animal Mum. Dogs melt me, I become mush, my brain creates sounds my mouth utters, strange squeals."
She looked cavil.
"Often garnered laughter. I try not to sound like a mouse around Freud, despite his moustache, fluffy stomach and tiny paws. Reign it in, Grace...," she chided.
"Kubrick? Big, mixed breed, no idea what, intimating if you didn't know him, a soft mutt if you did."
"From your grin when you first saw Freud? Dog person, that much was clear. That thrilled me, seeing you upbeat."
Bites of blunt teeth still affected Adam with thoughts of his cherished canine.
Grace didn't apologise, deeming it inconsequential. She wasn't able to change that, act, to change the outcome.
"My first dog, Rolo vanished one day. I was seven, just opened the gate, retrieved his lead, and, when I turned, he was gone. He'd run away. Never saw him again. Daft sod, would curl up on your knee, despite his size. Chocolate Labrador. Rolos were my favourite sweets. Two and two really."
Adam simpered.
"Had dogs since I was my parents knee height. They towered over me, could easily have knocked me down, never did. They were family to me."
Grace nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly, quickly munching a large bite of food.
"Exactly. Pets are family, they mean much more than many know. When I hear anyone say 'they are just animals,' it gets to me. One of the few things that does. I have to bite my tongue, disagree firmly but fairly, make my point without swearing."
She finished a second pancake, Adam a third.
"They think, feel, understand. All you have to do is look in their eyes with the right mind. Intensity lays there. Did Kubrick get more affectionate when you were hurting? Ill?"
Adam nodded.
"Always. He'd sit on top of a thick blanket Megan owned. We'd use it when we caught colds. He'd sit as closely as possible to us, his head on our knee."
"Freud sat on my bed, every day for two weeks when the I caught the flu. He was a pup at the time, had boundless energy, wouldn't leave my side, unless he needed to be walked. My neighbour helped me out there, fed him too. Apparently, when they were out walking, he'd pull on the lead, his head facing where he'd just come from. I would have cooed, were it not for coughing fits that almost had me vomiting. He's a sweet boy, very smart, learned tricks in weeks."
Her time with her dog came flooding back.
"Does he ever beg when he sees you get out a can?"
Adam nodded a second time, earnest upward tilt of his lips.
"Yeah, never fails to cheer me up, no matter what happened. He rolls over sometimes, puts up a paw other times. I've shook it more than I have hands of people, I swear..."
Grace grinned, poking the last pancake with a knife.
"Uncouth, I know. I should put down my knife, not wave it about."
She feigned a hopeless sigh.
"Dad would be frustrated. Taught me how to eat correctly, where each pieces of cutlery goes, which one to use first, how to fold napkins, place plates within six inches of the edge of the table, glasses four inches away from those, to their left, unless someone is right handed, which you ignore, as, that's where the glass goes."
She cut up the pancake, pushing half towards Adam.
"Only fair. There should be some tea left, might be a tad cold now. Should I make a swan?" She clarified. "Try to make a swan?"
Adam poured the last of the tea into their cups, finding sugar packets, using the milk afterwards. He then extricated the pancake pieces from the plate, dexterity that of defusing a bomb. Grace's bomb lay within his chest.
It blew when she picked up a napkin, folding it, the concentration on her face creating lines, raising a brow, frowning quickly. She'd made two wings, but the rest was a rectangle...
"I don't know how to make a swan..."
The man couldn't speak, merely studying her, his chest tightening. Reflex closed a fist under the table, knuckles dug into his knee. Allowing himself something other than self degradation affected him, some tart piece of mind wishing him to flee. Ignoring it, he focused on his food, opening the fist to grab his cup. Tepid liquid drank, he ate the pancake slowly, methodically, Grace's attention taking with finishing her meal.
"The pier looks nice, quiet. Let this settle a bit," Grace pushed out her stomach, "go for a walk. Adam? Care to join me?"
Adam swallowed last dregs of tea, throat working harder to process it due to nervousness.
"You can leave, if you want. I won't keep you."
The brunette's eyes were ardent, facial features lowered.
"It isn't you," the brunette male said, "its, I am letting myself go, throwing weight off my back. It feels great, but, without that weight, I feel less like me, you know?"
"You have the key to the shackles, but are so used to wearing them, that taking them off feels wrong, somehow? Been in a darkened room for some time, knowing there's a door to the outside, its light coming through slits in the doorway, but afraid to open it. To escape? The world isn't innocent, Adam. You have witnessed that, first hand. But," she resisted placing her hand on Adam's free one on the table, "I hope, with me, at least, that you can breathe, shift the weight, just for a time. It isn't quite as simple as dropping it, though people make it out so. I am here if you want me, gone if you don't. Ought to be going back to Oak Wood really, go see my Dad too. Its been a few years."
Adam knew he ought to visit his parents. They had been good to him, his childhood full of wonder, falling over, scraping knees, his morals were virtuous, heartfelt. He'd always been one for matters of the heart. Anything he did, he put his heart into it. It'd been stamped on, used, thrown around.
Grace managed to search for it, among any obstacles he put in the way, anything he used, she sifted through, took the path of least resistance.
She was an only child, as was he. It prompted the man to reflect on whether or not she felt the same loneliness he had felt from time to time.
He didn't need to feel that anymore. Neither did Grace, if his assumptions were correct.
Grace stood, motioning the waiter over, placing cutlery, sugar packets and such on the tray.
"Could you mind my purse? Just need to use the restroom." She handed Adam her bag. "Burgundy suits you."
She winked, handing a credit chit in the younger man. He took it, nodding in thanks, printing a receipt, taking the tray away.
Dress swishing as she walked, the sight entranced the man, his chest squeezing for a second time. She looked back, sweeping hair from her face, her gaze obliterating pestering unease. A particular, well known feeling hit the agent, breaths rapid, rising, falling of his chest familiar. He could but express tenderness, all of him agreeing to her offer of a walk. Standing, he kept the bag around his arm, wafts of perfume drifting off a silk cherry blossom patterned scarf she'd tied around a handle.
It smelt of vanilla, coconut, the very same scent she'd had his nose unable to forget in The Time Machine...