The Pacifist

Business Card

Rachel

No matter how hard she tried, Rachel couldn't stifle her sobs. Maybe it was just her self-consciousness, but she was positive that they had echoed across to the other side of the canal. A sudden gust of wind whipped around her and kicked up fallen leaves from the ground. Her hair flew into her face and stuck to her tear dampened cheeks. She angrily shoved her hair back and just then, her eyes locked with a man who stood on the other side of the waterway. Eyes locking may be a bit of an exaggeration considering he was too far away for her to be certain, but Rachel felt as if it was so.

Whatever it was that had plagued her emotionally was replaced by intrigue. She took a step forward. Blindly, she reached for the railing that lined the canal, not wanting to break eye contact. He did the same and started to walk. Rachel walked along with him, the railing guiding her steps so that she wouldn't trip until they came to a foot bridge. He crossed it, and so did she, meeting in the middle. Now that she was closer to him, Rachel looked up into his eyes with curiosity. They were a dark grey, like the skies when a storm was on the cusp of unleashing its wrath.

"What's hurting you?" he eventually asked.

Rachel licked her dry lips and went to answer, but faltered. She hated that question because she never knew exactly what it was she cried about. She just cried. So she felt embarrassed and always desperately searched for something bad enough in her life to blame her spontaneous tears on. But she didn't feel the need to lie with this stranger.

"The world," she slowly answered.

His eyes lit up with understanding. "You're beautiful when you cry," he said softly, so softly, that the odd statement seemed like a completely normal thing to say.

"Thank you," said Rachel, unphased by the strange compliment.

The man reached into his pocket. "I can help you find peace again." He handed her a business card made of heavy cardstock. In the middle was, what she assumed was, his name in bold, clinical font.

Joseph Maxwell

Underneath it read, in a much smaller font, 'Pacifist and Meditation Guide.' On the flip side was a phone number.

"Do you have a website or something?"

He shook his head. "Just text the number if you're interested, and I'll send you the information you need."

Of course the smart thing to do would have been to smile politely and continue on her way, but something in Rachel trusted the stranger. So she did smile, but then pocketed the card with the full intention to text the number.