New York - Story

You would think that over time the memory would fade, that somehow I would be free. To be honest, so did I. I thought that if I could just make it one more day I would forget a little more. So, I fought. I pushed that burning down so deep that from the outside it looked cold as a diamond, distant as a star. What I didn't realize is that, like a diamond or a star, I could never extinguish it. I could never destroy something that I had made such a large part of me without tearing it out and throwing it away, leaving a gaping hole where it once was. A void in the darkness of my soul. A void that seeks to be filled so desperately it devours everything. I fed it all of my sorrow, my pain, my anger, but it spit these back in my face. It hungers for what once was there, but now is lost.

When I first met her I had no idea what I was doing. I was sitting in my favorite little pub, the Galway Hooker, a marvelous recreation of a simple pub in Ireland complete with a long old wooden bar polished lovingly from hours of mopping up spilt alcohol. The place smelled of wood and spice and deep fried food. I had just finished a lunch of just such food and was relaxing with a book when I heard a laugh near the bar. It wasn't that laughing was uncommon here, or that it was a particularly loud or obnoxious laugh, no it certainly wasn't that, but it was light and full of joy and mischief. It was as if someone had given voice to a candle flame, and in that moment it was alive and bright and happy to be. I looked up, and there she was, leaning forward with her hands on the bar, white blouse, black vest, blue jeans, with full, long red hair flowing down her back. She glanced over her shoulder and I saw that smile for the first time and gaped openly. I had never seen anything so fresh and lovely, it was spring, it was sunshine, it was hope, it was every cheesy line from every poem I had ever read rolled into one. And it was there at the Galway Hooker. I tried to turn my attention back to my book, to ignore the fact that perfection had somehow sauntered into the room, but I simply couldn't. I found myself inventing reasons to glance up and around the room, always passing my eyes over her at least once before pretending to go back to my reading. I stopped myself in the middle of angling my body towards her, trying to give myself a better view. In my mind I played through every scenario I could think of to give me an excuse to talk to her. My ego discovered very quickly that in every way I imagined it, I always made a fool of myself. What would a woman like that want with someone like me anyway? Regardless of what I might have to offer, she was probably married or had a boyfriend. Women like that we're never single for very long. So I sat and watched and did absolutely nothing about it. Until eventually she left. I hadn't read a single word since I saw her, and then she was gone. I took a breath, finished my drink, and went home.
For weeks after that whenever I had a day off I always found myself at the Galway Hooker for lunch. I told myself that it was because I had come to really enjoy their fish and chips, or that I was trying to develop a routine it could fall contentedly into. The truth was that I was looking for her. In a city with hundreds of bars and restaurants, I thought maybe she would come back to mine. Next time I would talk to her. Next time I wouldn't care if she had a boyfriend. Every girl likes to be told they are beautiful, what harm is there in that? And for weeks I left disappointed, but not particularly surprised. Finally, after I had given up on the possibility of seeing her, there she was. I was on my way to my normal booth, but she was sitting there instead, wearing a t-shirt and black jeans, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a mug of something hot on the table in front of her. I stopped dead in my tracks and could do nothing but stare. Probably sensing someone watching her, she looked up at me, an eyebrow raised. My mind was sluggish, my pulse pounded, my legs buckled, and I probably would have bolted had she not been staring at me with her green eyes. Finally I managed to gather my wits enough about me to smile. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until she smiled back, and then it was as if someone had released me from some kind of spell. I was able to move. I stepped forward, eyes fixed on her.
"Hi," she said, her voice warm and gentle as a breeze.
Of course, the only thing I manage to get out is, "You're in my booth."