6/29/11

Journey Of Florence And Luke
By John Guy Cole


Her house was full of ghosts, and it scared her. Around every corner was another boogeyman, in every room another reminder. The darkest moments of her life crept through the empty building. The hands, the smell of sour beer and old whiskey, the scratch of whiskers...and then she met him.


He was blessed with demons. They followed him and mocked his steps. At any given time he would be confronted with his sins and mistakes. He never knew anything but being hunted and haunted, and it was his own damn fault. Then, though, he met her.


A Starbucks on every corner, and in every one someone who will change your life. The hard part is finding the one that holds the person that will change your life for the better, that will heal old wounds. A random smile, a happenchance brushing of fingertips. Just the right song comes on that makes you look up and into the eyes of your One. Your own personal One is elusive and tiptoes around the edges of your life. She was his One, and he hers.


He was old. He had spent his youth drinking and smoking and fucking, and it showed in every crease of his face. He looked 40 at 30, and walked with a cane, always watching for the demons behind him. Books were his forte, music his passion.


She was young and dumb and inexperienced. And innocent, oh so innocent, and this was her saving grace. You met her and wanted to care for her, to give you a project and joy. Few people's hobbies were their lives, and you wanted her to be yours. Your life, I mean, not hobby. That's more appropriately known as stalking.


When he walked into that Starbucks in that little town she was already enjoying a caramel macchiato at a table in the corner. She looked up from her phone when he walked in and turned back immediately without interest in what she'd seen. He only saw the cute barista at the counter. Turning on his charm he flirted shamelessly with her and achieved absolutely nothing. Embarrassed but undaunted he took a seat a couple tables away from her, and sat to read the newspaper and do the crossword. Not really paying attention to anything else, the music faded into the background.


“I wanna love ya, and treat you right/I wanna love ya, every day and every night...” With the first lyrics of “Is This Love” came a smile and a look up from the paper to see who else was enjoying it. She happened to glance up at the same time for no apparent reason and saw him smiling. With a smile the first foundations of love are poured, and this was no exception. They found themselves trapped in the moment as the bustle of the coffeeshop fell away. It was just them and the distance and the music, and the moment was perfect.


The man was not unaware of the significance of this and took advantage of it. He picked up his coffee, stood, and walked over to her, asking if he could sit down. She said yes, and they talked for hours about nothing, and it was glorious. I'm just kidding. He made a spectacular ass of himself, but she thought he was funny and kinda cute. After a half hour or so they both had to leave, but he asked if she came here regularly. She responded that he would have to see.


He had no choice, because he wanted nothing more than to see her again, so he started living there. Between 8 and 8 he did nothing but sit and read and write in Starbucks. He worked from home, so this wasn't much of an issue. Finally, after a week of waiting, she came through the door. He almost missed her. Drinking so much coffee made him spend a lot of time in the bathroom, and she was about to walk out the door when he left his own. He practically ran to her, and made an ass of himself yet again. It was quickly becoming a pattern.


This time she blessed him with her name: Florence. He swooned inwardly, but somehow maintained his composure externally. Probably not as well as he thought because she was standing there waiting for his, which he had inexplicably kept to himself. Luke.


Luke's thoughts at this moment:


She had struck him dumb with her every action and every smile and every laugh. He wanted to curl himself up in her scent and life forever.


Every moment thereafter was a whirlwind. Their first date. Their first kiss. Their first...intimate moment. Glorious and joyful and wonderful and awesome in every way. Every moment was fraught with peril. Florence, convinced that her past would ruin her current and future happiness. Luke, positive his already had. They tread lightly around each other for their own benefit, but slowly, surely, their defenses slipped and then they were within each others keeps and they were unguarded and shit got real.


As scared as they were they allowed themselves to fall in love, although they didn't speak their trepidation to each other, and barely acknowledged it themselves. Then, though, it caught up to them. Luke ordered a whiskey at the bar they were at and had neglected to shave that morning. Florence felt his hand on her leg and smelled the whiskey and felt his whiskers on her cheek when he kissed her and she freaked out and left and didn't come back and he was dumbstruck and empty without her. He didn't even know it, but she was the support he had always wanted and needed. She had become his reason for living, for leaving the house in the morning, for working, for being. He knew it now.


Luke fled. He went to her place and she wasn't there. He went to her work and she wasn't there. He went to all the places she went, but she wasn't at any of them. Resigned to the fact her wouldn't see her again that night, he went to Starbucks for a newspaper and there she was. Sitting with a caramel macchiato and crying to herself. He asked if he could sit down and she nodded. He sat in silence, waiting for her to compose herself.


Florence showed Luke the boogeymen, and then stopped speaking. He got up, bought a pack of gum, and put it all in his mouth, asking if she could still smell the whiskey. She smiled, and said no, but that it was too late. The damage was done, and so was she. She couldn't be with him any more, and would always have that association in her mind whenever she touched him. He said okay. He didn't beg, didn't cry. At least, not in front of her. He got up from the table, left the coffeeshop, and walked to his car. He got in, started it, drove down the street, stopped, and let the emotion wash over him. Once the initial onslaught passed, he wrote something in the notebook that held all his ideas for work. It wasn't found until the tow company had already moved his car to the dump and it was being crushed when the notebook fell out.


It said: “I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bed, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.”


He never made it to his bed. The passage is of course a little unclear, since he was her boyfriend, but maybe it was just from a book and stuck in his mind. He loves her still, even through death, and she realized her mistake too late. Florence still loves Luke, though she's with another, and every time it rains, for some reason, she is reminded of him and smiles.


- - -
John Guy Cole enjoys the soothing dulcet tones of Elliot Smith, Bob Marley, and Frank Zappa. And whiskey. Can't forget the whiskey.