Remarkable

Anne stuffed her wet curls entirely under a gray cap and grabbed her keys. She was late for work.

Each strike of her boot on the pavement rang out a syllable of his name.

Tra. La. La. La.

Why did she feel this way? How could she feel this way? Impossible!

The subway rattled downtown, and she wondered with unprecedented anticipation what she would do if he were to enter her train car. 42nd Street? 33rd? Would he appear at 28th?

Across from her he would slump. And shove the earbuds back in his ears. His lips would part in an exhale of breath as he ran his fingers through his hair and cast down his eyes. Those lips that were tinged with delicate sadness around the edges. And those downcast eyes and lashes that revealed to her an unfathomable poignancy of character.

And just as her heart was breaking...

He looked up and met her gaze. And saw her. Everything she had been waiting for washed over her, shimmered up her shoulders and sunk down into her chest. She did not know how she knew or why she knew, but he was the elixir. The solution to the nightingale.

Anne got off at Bleecker and walked to work with the violet hour closing around her.

Tra. La. La. La.

The dusky clouds were lined in portentous grays, and for the first time, Anne knew that all that had come before was reasonable. The riddling and riffling of their bodies was merely a preparation for each other.

As she neared the bistro, the lowering sun revealed the approaching night sky as a shroud of incandescent sapphire. The expanse was a luminescent version of her mother's blue velvet bedspread, and Anne wanted to rest her cheek and spread her arms out wide.

She smiled.

Wynn

Symmetry and perfection were abhorrent to Anne. Especially in regards to teeth.

Wynn had the kind of teeth she liked. Close together, partially overlapping. Not glaringly white or straightly braced. Teeth that gnawed delicious food and drank red wine and smoked cigarettes and lived life.

He appeared.

She put on a languid look and pretended not to notice him deciding whether or not to speak to her. Finally, she eased his apprehension with a shift of her gaze...and they were talking.

He stood with his elegant arm draped over the motorcycle helmet that was resting on his hip. His skin was covered in graceful colors and cursive scrawl that she wanted to examine with her fingers and her eyes.

Her mind traveled up the stairs to his apartment...

There, his sweet dog was sleeping. His bed was a clean and made. Anne was showered and finally moist with coolness rather than heat. The stark, white blankness of her back looked beautiful juxtaposed with his tattooed skin. She balanced on her elbows and took his palm between her hands. She pressed her thumbs into the fleshy center until his fingers curled around hers.

* * *

Out on the street, the stars were not visible through the trees. Anne watched a 6th floor light turn on and off.