Spirit of Gettysburg: Soulmates Across Time

Chapter 4

He sized her up. "Another thing I find annoying is your goofy sense of humor. It's nuts and I'm being polite. I can't stand it. I can't stand your morality, either, it's boring. Your integrity bores me, too. You'd be a terrible wife. Your reserve puzzles me. You're illogical. I can't make you cry. You want a quiet, orderly life, to fly in under the radar, not make any waves, not get involved in politics or confrontations. 

She stuck her tongue out at him. 

Vincent wrinkled his perfect nose, courtesy of D.C.'s best plastic surgeon. "Be normal for once in your silly life!" His sigh was supersized. "I'm sorry your mother is ill, but you've changed. Be funny again. Your spirituality annoys me." 

She gave him a stink eye.

"I know you're psychic, therefore de facto nuts, but you graduated from Harvard summa cum laude. Professors raved about your intelligence and discipline. You've done squat with your education. You should make billions."

"You know I hate those Harvard snobs and their superiority complexes." Her voice ground to a halt.

"Oddball! Harvard! You're an educated woman. Why you love God and believe in miracles is beyond me." Vincent frowned. His forehead, baby skin smooth with quarterly Botox injections, stayed a frozen lake. "I don't see Jesus, the world's holy savior helping you. Satan is more reliable. Christianity is a religion for fools, morons and losers."

He scowled. "We're leaving," he squinted at his Rolex Yacht Master 11 wristwatch, "in twenty minutes. Piggy oink, oink, don't soil that Givenchy dress I bought you. For an uptight, squeaky-clean and buttoned-up ice-queen, you're surprisingly messy."

She faced him and stood tall, all 5'3" of her. "We're done. I'm tossing the charred turkey carcass out, a.k.a., you!"

He was Vesuvius erupting ash and lava. "You insignificant nobody! You're breaking up with me first?" He thrust his pointy, stiletto knife chin out at her.

"Bye, Vinnie Mini." He hated that nickname. She fled his fashionable estate. 

She coolly watched him.

She saw him for the last time three weeks before her mother died. He slithered into Cady's Kafe, the ultra chic, trendy, Georgetown restaurant where she was reading for two matrons, her Wednesday morning regulars. 

On his arm was an exceedingly tall, skinny, pale, overly made-up redhead complete with fake breasts, gaudy jewelry and tight clothes. She looked wasted. They sat down directly across from her. The redhead, hoping for a glimpse of the Washington elites having breakfast at their favorite hidey-hole, surveyed the restaurant. Vincent nibbled her neck, shooting daggers at Maureen, his eyes tired and bloodshot. 

He observed Maureen talking to the two ladies of a certain age and status. Dressed like they were forever twenty-one instead of forget me fifty-one, with dyed hair, perfect makeup and designer clothes on their starved, size zero bodies, they were bored Georgetown matrons unhappily married to wealthy, inattentive husbands.

Lonely, they drank heavily, gossiped freely and lunched lightly, keeping their figures emaciated and their faces tight their only ambition. She liked them, though. They were kindhearted, good to her, paid well and tipped generously.

Maureen ignored him and finished the session. After the ladies left she slurped a mocha cappuccino and ate a chocolate croissant, a Cady's Kafe specialty, loving his annoyance at her indulgence.

"Come on, we're going!" He dragged the protesting giraffe out of the restaurant by the hand. 

Question: Have we all had a Vincent in our lives?  I call them negative soulmates.