Chasing the Sun

T h r e e : Serendipity

-

Recklessness is almost harmless without the strength of impulse and I'm not afraid to admit that I've always been an impulsive person.

I'd like to think my daredevil antics were for the greater good, I'd like to think that I learned early on how fleeting and inconsequential life can be if you didn't ignore inhibitions and just lived in the moment.

I think I first saw the impact of a cautious, hesitant life on my mother, a woman unfairly wilted by time. Time she only spent fighting the past, the present, the future and all their responsibilities.

As life crumbled around us and her responsibilities changed, I strayed from her ideas of what life should be, I lost the concept of obligations and accountability.

Don't get me wrong, a careless life is just that, care-less. Heavy yet empty, thrilling but terrifying, a life filled with oh-wells, rather than the what-ifs. A life that could only remain intact or be ruined by my decisions and my decisions alone.

Yet, the very thoughtless brashness that made me feel invincible had disappeared like a thief in the night with my move to New York and the appearance of Mystic.

She is as powerful as a Greek Goddess with an allure so compelling and sublime, she stunned me into calculated caution and restraint.

Caution and restraint that slowed the hands of father time and trapped me in the stillness of evanescent moments.

Soon, in what I thought was the safety of borrowed time, I stole glances and conjured up dreams where she was mine and I was hers. But that's the thing about time, it is inevitable and it waits on no one, when the seconds have ticked and toked, they never do come back.

-

On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday there was no auburn-haired beauty to occupy the booth next to the window. Never in the time that I had come to admire Mystic had she ever missed a day at the coffee shop.

I try to ignore it but its too hard not to notice how bleak and empty the crowded shop seems without her there to make animated faces at the chapters of her book.

I try to distract myself with refilling a napkin dispenser but my body goes rigid when I realize she isn't there to stare out the window with eyes so intent, it makes the world slow around her.

The woman who had climbed out of my dreams and found her way into my reality was gone like the wind and I hadn't even asked her, her name.

My Mystic was probably sitting at another coffee shop being approached by a man who had enough sense not to let her getaway.

When did I become so spineless? So afraid to merely be seen? What the hell am I doing?

I guess I should thank Mystic if I ever see her again. She's made me realize that without a shadow of a doubt, I don't know who I am anymore.

As my thoughts pour like rain, my heart rockets against my chest like an animal caged too long.

It's moving so rapidly, I can hear the beats like a drum.

By the time Sam comes into my line of sight and asks if I was okay, my heart is too far up my throat to make anything more than a pathetic spluttering sound.

"Johnny! I said to breathe." Sam's voice is panic-stricken and soon his hand comes down hard against my back.

Only then I find the strength to loosen the buttons on my shirt and take a deep breath in before exhaling a shaky breath out.

Sam's eyes are frantic as I wheeze, finally allowing my lungs to fill with air. "I zoned out, I-I'm sorry."

The room seems to spin and my legs sway from left to right.

"Zoned out, you zoned out? Are you kidding me? You were turning blue, I thought you were going to pass out." Sam runs his hand through his greying hair and lets out a small grunt of frustration.

"Johnny, why the hell do you need to overdo everything? You love so hard, you hurt so hard, you hate so hard. You overthink so damn hard, there is no moderation."

Sometimes I feel as if Sam knew me better than I knew myself, he pointed out my weaknesses and strengths better than my mother could.

It was true, I saw everything as black or white, there was never any grey areas.

It was either you went with your all or you went with nothing at all, If I didn't have everything figured out, that meant that I had nothing figured out.

I expected too much from everyone. I expected too much from my mother, my father and now I had done the same with a woman, I knew nothing about.

What exactly did I want from Mystic?

I must have faded back into thoughts too deep for me to appear stable because Sam waves his hands wildly in front of my face as his brows pull together in anger. "That's it! Johnny, get out, you're done for today."

"Sam! Wait no, I'm alright. Please just-" My words shrink to a meaningless mumble as Sam raises his trembling hand, effectively stopping me as he shakes his head.

"I'm giving you the rest of the day off, please, Ricky or Macey can pick up your shift. This old heart's too weak to see you give yourself a heart attack."

I sigh and nod, un-tucking my white shirt from the waist of my work pants before stepping away from Sam and walking towards the door.

The old man knew it, his health was important to me; he used his "poor heart" to get me to do just about everything.

Sam doesn't have to worry though, I am done.

I'm done pining after a girl who shines too brightly to ever notice my shadow. I was done thinking that maybe I could figure it all out.

As I push through the front door, I bump into a woman who smelt distinctly sweet, almost like when rain falls on dry flowers with a hint of rich honey.

My eyes lock with hers and I swear, the world feels right again.

"Mystic..." I whisper as I grip her forearm, just to touch her - just to know that she is real and that she is here in front of me.

Instantly, the beauty recoils from my touch with a loud gasp as if the feel of my fingers has burnt her perfect skin.

She steps back her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

Every insecurity that I ever had, surfaces and refuses to be buried, the woman is terrified of me.

I can feel the heat rushing to my face and the ache grow in my chest, then without warning her lips curl into a smile that I believe can possibly cure cancer.

"Oh my God, I thought you were mute!" she squeals and throws a hand in the air, as she holds on tightly to her book with the other.

After my eyes search every inch of her smiling face, from her twinkling eyes to her supple lips, I finally find my voice.

"What?"

I sound scratchy and rough but her enthusiasm never dims as she shoves her book into my hand, pointing at it. "I got this because I thought you were mute."

I glance down at the book, the title illuminated by a holographic border, The Big Book of Sign Language.

Did she want to find a way to speak to me?