THE FOREVER LIFE

CHAPTER ONE

Street after street, an array of colorful lights were stringed together adorning every tall building, concealing most of the night sky, and music floated through the air around each corner. Smiling faces passed her in waves as the crowds danced on the streets to the beats blaring from each club. New Orleans was beaming with life when the rest of the world was fast asleep. This was what attracted her here. Roselyn Matrone's soul was dying from the memory of her husband, but she was desperate to stay alive.

The night was humid as nights in New Orleans tend to be. Her sea green tank top clung to her breasts and stomach as the moisture in the air sat on her skin, beckoning sweat from each pore all over her body. Her jean shorts would have to be peeled from her butt and legs later. She still wasn't used to the humidity, even though she had moved to the area some time ago. In Ohio, where she was raised, summers never rose above ninety-five and the humidity there was lesser by half. In an attempt to cool down, Roselyn entered a bar that lacked walls. Four beams held the roof, but there were stacks of fans blowing inward on the north and south ends, creating a vortex of wind and relief.

"Bud light, please," she said loudly to the bartender, subtly noticing him.

"Bud light?" he questioned in a tone that carried over the booming music around them. "That's a par drink for an abnormal city. You're not in Kansas anymore Toto." Roselyn fixed her gaze on him at his amusement and felt annoyed. "Have you experienced a grenade yet?" he asked.

He was close to her age perhaps, twenty-six. His outward appearance was carefree and comfortable in loose shorts and a loose t-shirt draped over his naturally tanned skin. He wasn't like the other bartenders working alongside him whose clothes were designed to show off their muscles. His dark hair wasn't exactly long, but it wasn't short either. The name on his tag pinned to his t-shirt was an odd one, Elohim. A smile curved up his lips as he dried the shot glass in his hands with the towel that had been tucked in his belt. Placing it in a tiddy row alongside other newly cleaned shot glasses, he turned to completely face Roselyn. Surely life's twists hadn't ruined him yet.

One would assume Roselyn was older from the despondence behind her eyes and the serious resolve that hardened her features. Her young life had experienced incomprehensive losses. She uncomfortably ran her fingers through her brown hair, pretending to be observing the highlights under the white and purple lights from above, anything to break eye contact with this bartender while she mustered the energy to demand a damn bud light, so she could be left alone. To drink her misery away. She hated his buoyant nature, but, deep down, she willed it to break through and save her from herself.

"What's a grenade," she finally asked, her will to live breaking through.

"I knew you weren't from these parts, only the locals or frequent visitors are familiar with it."

"Is it that obvious?" she asked over the blaring music, relaxing her fingers from her hair. "I've been living in Mississippi, but I've unfortunately never had the chance to visit New Orleans until now."

Elohim nodded, "I'm pretty good at reading people. A grenade is a healthy mixture of many liquors, but I can't reveal the exact ingredients or I'd have to kill you." His smile remained as he winked at her and presumably awaited a sarcastic response. But Roselyn's face was humorless.

Elohim's aim was to lighten the mood for this dreary woman, who was striking to behold but whose introverted stature and obvious self-loathing almost concealed her from the rest of the world. Grief and despair rooted themselves in her. She was at a loss how to break free, how to live again, her dark eyes told him as much. She was in a fight for her life, for her soul.

When she made no response, he asked loudly, "So, want to try one?"

"Sure," Roselyn said with little effort.