21 Jun Chapter 3: Glass (Unedited)

They lived in the depths of the city, steps away from all of the recreational activities. The fall had just painted the trees’ leaves and the temperature was warm to a sweater’s sleeves. It was the morning time – just before the hour hand crossed the clock’s equator.

They were both inside the kitchen, where they spent time together before a day’s minutiae unfolded. She was at the counter eating a pomegranate, while his palms were planted on the granite, “So how about a real breakfast?”, he asked.

She was a professional blouse outside of the house, persisting through a solid career, but together, in their humble abode, she wore an above average cleavage and spoke in something much sweeter. He was in his casual sweats, that’s how she liked it, so he always kept it simple.

He pulled out a frying pan and a couple ingredients from the fridge. He turned the stove burner on and placed the pan upon it, “You know…” he said, “The key to making great scrambled eggs is that you melt the butter into the oil with the salt, before adding the eggs. A lot of people add the salt afterward, doesn’t taste as good.”

She gave one of her laughs, the type of laugh that one could tell she adored what she was laughing out, more specifically enjoyed watching him cook.

He cracked two eggs onto the oil-butter-salt combination in the frying pan and then continued, “The second part is… that you’ve got to turn the heat off when the eggs look like they are only half-cooked – or you’ll end up overcooking them and they’ll be dry. That also, doesn’t taste very good.”

He turns off the burner and continues to stir the eggs in the pan. After about a minute, he takes a plate from the cupboard, puts the scramble on it and hands her the plate with a fork.

She looked delighted as she was having some issues with the pomegranate, but said to him, “Where’s yours?”

He tried to make it a small issue, “Oh, I’m going to go for a quick walk, probably will just grab a quick breakfast biscuit somewhere. I’m not too hungry right now anyway.”

She was trusting, but also a little concerned, “Well then, why did you cook breakfast?”

He grabbed the keys to the house, gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Because you like when I do. I’ll be back soon.” One could tell she really liked that and a few moments later he was out of the door.

After making a few lefts and a few rights, he found himself at the entrance of a park that he liked to frequent; a place to get some exercise and thinking done.

After walking for a few meters, he heard a, “Excuse me… you over there…”, he turned his head and noticed it came from a man sitting on a bench. The man looked relatively normal based off of societal demands, but his right eye, was made of glass. It had some sort of design on it, that he couldn’t really see from that far. The man had a toothpick that he was obnoxiously using to pick at his teeth. But, nonetheless, he stops to converse.

Him: “Can I help you?”

Man: “So, I heard that you’re writing a book..”

The man was not a foreigner but had an American accent that made dissecting the dialect of the region not a simple task.

He was really confused and puzzled by the question.

Him: “Why.. yes I am. But, who told you that? I’m not a known author or anything, I’m just starting my pursuit… what did you say your name was?”

Man: “Yeah, I’m going to need to know what kind of… words, that you’re using in that book.”

Him: “Words? I’m just using words, you know, ones that you find in books. Have you ever read a book before, or?”

The man throws his toothpick to the ground and dryly looks up at him.

Man: “I’ve read a few, but, you see…”

The man leans back in the bench, reaches into his coat and pulls out a cigar. He lights the cigar and takes a few puffs of it before speaking again.

Man: “Like I said, I’m going to need to know what type of words you’re using in that book of yours.”

Him: “Sorry, I have no idea what you’re even talking about, I–”

Man: “Because you know what they say…”

Just as he spoke those words, he stood up from the bench, shadows seemed to cover his facial features, but he could now see the design of the man’s glass eye, it was that of a seahorse. The man gave off a foul laugh and then proceeded to grotesque his tone.

Man: “That some words, can be… MAGICAL.”

He seemed more puzzled than he has ever been in his entire life.

Him: “What did you say your name was again?”

His phone started ringing, he looks at the man and says, “Hold on, I’ve got to take this.” The man starts to walk away. It was her calling.

Him: “Hey, the strangest thing just happened.”

Her: “What do you mean?”

Him: “I was just walking in the park and some random guy asked about the book I’m writing.”

Her: “You’re writing a book? You never told me that..”

Him: “Yeah, I know, I was going to tell you, but you know how I am… I wanted to write most of it out before I showed you, but still… this was weird.”

Her: *no response*

Him: “Well, we can talk about it when I see you. I’m about to head back now.”

Her: “I actually have to leave to go take care of some things for work. Let’s just meet up for dinner.”

Him: “Sounds good.”

He hangs up the phone and stands there looking around for the man from the bench. With him nowhere to be found, he decides to continue on his walk. He often chooses the dirt paths as something about the unevenness of the terrain seems to help stimulate his mind.

While walking; his mind & heart:

The interesting thing is that interesting things usually are

things of little interest to a mind that does not wander…

Unsatisfied he erases that from his mind and starts again.

A mind that wanders is one that asks how and why,

Again he erases that from his mind.

A mind,

On a walk, on a swim, on a stroll, or even upon sitting stationary, Observes many things, But, those that approach the orientation with ‘Why’s that?’ understand mental richness and the source of

Feeling a bit more fatigued than usual and not overly happy with his ponders, he finds a near-by bench and lays out on it, with his eyes closed, for an intermittent amount of time.

After what seems like at least a half-an-hour, he hears a female voice, “Hey… I think you dropped this.”

He opens his eyes and sees an attractive woman standing there, tapered in yoga aesthetics holding a piece of paper out to him.

She continues, “I thought you might want it back. I hope that you don’t mind, but I did read what was written on it.”

He sits up quickly and graciously takes the piece of paper from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, “I wrote it for my woman.”

She moves into a subtly seductive pose and says to him, “You wrote that? It’s beautiful…especially,

‘If a petal from every flower in the world was pressed together – that’d be the flavor of your heart, my dear.’

Really honest and soft-spoken.”

“Oh thanks. I appreciate that – it sounds different hearing someone read it out. I think she’ll like it though.” he said to her as they entered an awkward little sophomoric eye-stare. He breaks the silence and clears his throat, “I should really get going. Nice meeting you and take care.”

As he was turning to walk away he noticed she had a small tattoo on the earlobe of her right side. He couldn’t see what it was, but thought it was interesting placement.

Several hours go by and the day turns into a starry night. They both had agreed to meet up for dinner at a spot they frequented, which had a vast and plentiful menu. They were seated at a small table, for two, near a well-lit, but not obtrusively fluorescent, corner of the restaurant.

Their evening started off in high spirits filled with a whirlwind of light, yet meaningful conversations. They had finished a bottle and a half of wine before even looking at the menu. Normally, they don’t drink so heavily, but this was not a glass is half-empty type of night, it was a glass is full type of night.

Somewhere along the lines of their potently contagious conversation, he gives her a quick glance then he pulls out a piece of paper and begins writing, while thinking out loud;

“Her love is enticing. It is like a constant relay race to her heart with every sentence I’ve spoken, for she seems to digest every word with sincere sensitivity, despite her beautifully projected hardened persona… at least with me.

To be able to enter her feelings is the very passion that keeps his pen devoted to her.”

After writing, he looked up and noticed a new smile formed on her lips and a soft, short-lived tear trickling down the front of her face – stemming from the inner corner of her eye, instead of the opposite edge.

It became apparent to him that she is never bored with this devotion.

She finishes her glass of wine, pours another glass from the bottle and then begins to say, “Do you remember that conversation we had awhile back, about coincidences and things like that?” She had a really pretty tone to her voice within the enunciation of her words.

He takes a sip of wine then says, “Yeah…actually I do. What I was trying to hint at that night was –”

She cuts him off and continues with, “I think you’re right, I do think things happen because they are supposed to and not necessarily always by chance or randomness. But, what would a coincidence then be? You could find an association to almost anything, if you really wanted to, right?”

He gives her an intrigued stare, a slightly intoxicated one at that and responds, first with a whimsical laugh, “Well… I wasn’t quite prepared for a conversation like this again, especially not tonight, but I think if you’ve got to really search for the connection then it most likely isn’t a real coincidence anyways.

To make this short: What I really wanted to say to you that night was that I think, us, in having found each other was supposed to happen and that–”

Before he finishes his sentence he notices something in his peripherals near the bar area. The woman that he had briefly met at the park earlier that day, walked in and took a seat at the bar.

She was dressed fashionably proper for what looked like an elegant evening somewhere, although with her hair down he could not see the tattoo on her ear, but he was strongly certain that it was that same woman.

Just as he was about to pay the oddity of the situation no mind and finish what he was saying, he notices that she noticed him and that she had started to joyously walk over to their table.

She interrupts their dining experience, “Oh my gosh! It’s soooo good to see you!”, then proceeds to give him one of  those high-hung around the collar hugs with a friendly kiss on the cheek. She then looks at his woman and continues to say, “Isn’t his writing… just great? I love it.”