Happily Ever After - Part I

Part I

I remember wishing I could live forever. I even remember why I wished it. Her name was Grace. She never liked her name, she said she was too clumsy to ever have such a simply beautiful name, but I knew the lie there. Her dancing was the most exquisite, her eye for decoration was... unique. She had her own sense of style. I wanted nothing more than to be near her and as blissfully happy forever.

    But Fate knew my Line better than I ever could. Or at least better than I could when I was a simple mortal, one of those dull grey or beige Lines that helps to form the background, but does nothing divinely important. Screwed that idea pretty well.
    Do you know, or at least comprehend at all why the older scripts say things like, “To see the face of God is to perish before Terrible Beauty”? I do.

    Fate met me one day, dressed as a fellow paper-pusher. I was at a coffee shop outside Boston, waiting for the rain to stop so I wouldn’t have to dash between sheets of ice cold raindrops just to catch the subway back to the office. He walked in and ordered a cup of coffee, added nothing, accepted the up-sale offer of a croissant, and sat down at the next table. I was doing the puzzles in the daily paper, glancing up every so often when the door opened, hoping to see the rain had abated, but to no avail. He noticed, and with a quiet grin, finishing his coffee, stood up and walked to my table. I looked up as he sat down, no invitation, no words, still with that quiet smirk. We sat in silence, and when I was particularly stuck on the crossword, I looked up and was startled by his eyes, staring directly into mine.
    “You want the rain to stop, but you keep sobbing, so it’s still raining.” His voice stopped everything. Tenor, melodious, smooth as caramel, gentle, yet incredibly demanding - all in one moment - and I knew this man was different in ways I couldn’t quite place. Not sitting in a metal chair in a coffee shop in Boston. He smiled in a sad way, and reached over to touch my hand. He held his hand just above mine, waiting.
    “What? Why?” I felt the blush rise in my cheeks. Could I have asked more ignorant questions?
    “Do you want me to touch you?” His voice was careful, sincere, respectful. His eyes open and hiding nothing, while offering a depth of knowledge I was afraid to know.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Yes, you do.” Then he let his hand drop the inch or so onto my hand. The immediate relief was astounding. I started to cry instantly, and while I thought of being ashamed, it never occurred to me that I in fact should feel no shame, I simply let the tears fall down my cheeks, his thumb rubbing soft lines across the back of my hand. “I would ask you why you cry, but I already know.”
    This stops me cold. I pull my hand back. Defcon 1. Full attentive defense, offensive ready at a moment’s notice - less than a moment if needed.
    His sad grin fades to just sadness. Just before he speaks I see the rain has stopped, and yet it is blacker out than before, or maybe it’s not black out, but black in - can it be black inside the shop?
    “Grace.” I hiss as he says her name softly.
    “Don’t.”
    “She wouldn’t want you to be so sad, you know.” The tears threatened to drown me again. The memories did instead. I saw it all over again. Our life together, the good times, the bad times, the night she left me, and then the morning she came back a week later. The house we bought together, the dogs we loved. Then the afternoon she  - the day she -
    “You can’t think of her death, can you?” He wasn’t sitting across from me anymore. I didn’t see him move, he just wasn’t there anymore. Neither was the coffee shop.
    “What happened? What did you do? What do you want?” I felt foolish for asking, but cared little, as there was little ego left to bruise.