1962, Monday, San Francisco
As I stand in the wet stuff, I catch sight of two young people sitting down in the left corner of the pocket-sized eating-place. It makes me wonder if we ever think of each other at the same time and even though we never said it to one another; I think we both knew what went there.
Sadly there's a part of me that's always going to be in love with him probably for the rest of my life.
My wet hair embraces myself while the cold transpicuous globules dampen the rest of my uniform. It's hard to remember when I started crying. Then the air current smacks a newspaper on my face. Shortly after removing the wringing-wet scandal sheets from my frown I am able to read something about the rain falling at a rate of 3 centimeters per hour in the area and at least 13 people are dead as the heavy rain triggers flooding, mudflows and road closures across the country.
Asudden an umbrella covers me from the liquid ice and at the same time, I let go of the gossipy extra edition of fiascos. The tall person who is unfamiliar to me pays attention to exactly what I gaping at without reservation.
"I love him," the words leave my lips very much like the torrent of brown liquid mixed branches, rocks and other debris carrying away my family home last week. Grandma was really disappointed.
"Don't do that to yourself," is the snappy comeback of the owner of that white umbrella. And the next thing I know he's holding my hand, unashamedly. He has a feel to him like the warmth of the sun in the winter.
"I feel too much and he doesn't," I say lowering my voice to a whisper. "I can't unlove him."
The unknown man grins a grin that made me want to curl into a fetal position but I just look down and away feeling so small. From the corner of my eyes, I spot Thorin kissing the only woman he loves which is not me.
I suppose it would be nice if she sliced her throat open like a slice of lemon cake or something that would make him choose me over her. It would be only fair to have his heart as broken as mine is.
"What would you say if the evil one requested your soul?" the strange man leans forward, "Imposing you take his soul to keep close," humming those words and I would have placed anything in front of my body to create some sort of distance.
He places his hands around my shoulders standing in my personal space with his body towards mine reminding me of a boozy, ignorant, intolerant, but very polite English uncle who basically eats a lot of bad processed food that comes out of boxes and tins.
Without warning the outsider suited up in a model number 718 rests his lips on my forehead softly speaking. "Everything is beautiful in here."
He seems unable to be still or to stop acting that he knows me.
"Here is real magic," he breaks the silence licking his lips admiring something on my left so I look and I recognize a sandy-haired lady nearby Thorin's table cutting into portions her windpipe bleeding all over the man I love.
The stranger claps his arms behind his body making eye contact with no other than myself before I lay flat on my back.
"Dream with me," he spits out every word right away turning around to leave yet before he does so he tosses a red cape right to my face.
