Victoria
PS: The italics in the story are Beatles lyrics.
PPS: The entire story (including the title) is exactly 3000 words.
Crossing the Universe
She
looked like the kind of girl Paul McCartney would have written a song about. The thought occurred to Will as he stood at
the window, watching her sip coffee in the small café across the street. He tried to think of the right words to
describe her: graceful, lovely, radiant…he scoffed at how cheesy it all
sounded, like a bad Hallmark card. He
was an artist, not a writer; he preferred pictures to words.
The
sound of his own name pulled Will back to reality. His boss, Jodie, was telling him to get a move
on.
“Those
tables won’t clean themselves, Will,” she said, balancing a tray of food as she
bustled by.
He
nodded in embarrassment at her stern gaze.
This wasn’t the first time she’d caught him staring blankly out the
window. He turned back to his work; the last
thing he wanted was to get fired. He
lifted the bucket of dirty plates, cups, and silverware off the table and wove
his way toward the swinging door in the back of the restaurant. The kitchen was buzzing with life as the
cooks tried to keep up with the flurry of orders coming in for lunch. Will ignored the shouts of “eighty-six the
onions” and “order-up” as he began scrubbing the dishes clean, his mind
drifting across the street to the empty chair sitting across from The Girl in
the busy café.
“The sun is up. The sky is
blue. It’s beautiful, and so are you…”
Will’s
shift ended at 4:30, right before the dinner rush picked up. He buttoned his coat, flipped up his collar,
and stepped out into the chilly evening.
He glanced across the street to the café to see The Girl – he didn’t
know her name – turn the page of whatever book she was reading, a half-smile
curling the corners of her mouth. It
would’ve been easy enough to walk across the street, enter the warm café, and
introduce himself, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. As far as he was concerned, the one-way
street that separated them every day was as wide and expansive as the entire
universe – he was an observer and nothing more, unable to reach through the
telescope to touch the stars. Will
didn’t know if it was fear or pride that kept him from talking to her, but
either way, he ended up sitting alone on the bench in front of Floyd’s Pizza
while he waited for his sister to pick him up (they shared a car, and she had
class until 4:45). He didn’t mind the
wait, even when his fingers started to go numb from cold. Will was content to watch The Girl read her
book, enjoying the frequent bursts of laughter that punctuated her smiles.
Sometimes
he took out his sketchbook and drew pictures of her, but only when it was warm
enough that his hand wouldn’t cramp up.
Since it was too cold to draw that day, he spent the wait observing her
- really looking at her – noticing
every detail.
The
Girl had bushy black hair that fell down her back in long, curling waves. She often wore a ponytail or headband to keep
it pulled back, but today, she didn’t seem to mind that it was falling in her
face. Every now and then, she’d push a
hand through the curls, holding them back for a moment, but they would
inevitably fall forward again when she reached an interesting part of her book
and let go. She wore a thick, overlarge,
green sweater that fell past her waist, brown jeans, and ankle boots. She had one leg tucked underneath her, and
the other one swung freely under her chair.
When she got really into some part of her book, she’d lean forward,
pulling the book closer. Her eyes would
widen, she’d grip the book tightly, and her breathing would speed up. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever
seen.
Will
couldn’t help but be attracted by her.
She seemed incredibly cool to him. (God, did he really just call her
“cool?”) She gave off an air of
sophistication and carelessness; perhaps it had something to do with seeing her
in a café every day. She always seemed
so relaxed, like nothing in the world was more important than reading a book
while sipping a cup of coffee. He’d
never seen her upset in any way; her café visits were punctuated with smiles
and laughter. Will envied and admired
her careless happiness; he and anxiety were close friends. He could never let go of the idea that
everyone around him was watching and judging his every move, even if he knew
that wasn’t true. The Girl didn’t seem
to care who was watching her or what they might think. It was in the way she carried herself and the
way she interacted with her surroundings.
She exuded confidence through her every movement.
Will
wondered what she might be reading. He
figured it was something he’d never heard of, filled with jokes and references
he wouldn’t understand. She looked like
the sort who could read straight Chaucer as if it were a novel (Will couldn’t
even understand Chaucer when it was riddled with footnotes and
annotations). Will didn’t read very much
– just some sci-fi and fantasy, plus a little Stephen King now and then (who
didn’t like Stephen King? The Girl would
likely turn up her nose at such a widely popular author as King).
He
watched in fascination as she marked her page and set the book aside. She slipped her computer back into her bag
and took one last sip of her coffee (probably something with a fancy French
name he wouldn’t understand…she looked like someone who spoke French or at least
Spanish…probably French) before heading for a trashcan.
A
car stopped directly in front of Will, blocking his view of The Girl. His sister, Courtney, rolled down the window
a crack and shouted for him to hurry and get in the car. As he stood to open the car door, Will
glanced over at the café window, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her, but
she was already gone.
“Sometimes I wish I knew you well.
Then I could speak my mind and tell you.
Maybe you’d understand…”
This was their routine. The Girl appeared at the café early in the
afternoon and generally stayed until 5 or 6.
Will spent his shift relishing the rare glimpses he got of her
throughout the day, then he would sit and either watch or draw her from the his
usual spot in front of Floyd’s until his sister showed up. It was well-established that The Girl never
left first – she remained at the café until Courtney picked him up. He wasn’t sure what she did or where she went
once he was gone. (He’d once considered following her to find out, but then
he’d sternly reminded himself that that was called stalking, and he shouldn’t be such a creep.)
It was also a given that she always
spent her time in the café alone. In the
month or so that they’d followed this schedule, Will had never once seen anyone
else sitting with her. He assumed she
had a boyfriend (she had to have a
boyfriend…look at her!). He tried to imagine what he might be like:
tall, dark, and handsome, most likely.
He sometimes wondered why this mysterious boyfriend or at least one of
her many friends that she was sure to have was never with her, but he figured
she was independent and liked her alone time.
Now that he thought about it, she probably sat chatting with her
charming boyfriend via computer over a latte every afternoon; maybe that’s why
she was always smiling…
Will shook his head to rid himself of
that idea. He was sitting in his room,
his sketchpad open to a series of drawings of her he’d done earlier in the
week. Drawing was the one thing in life
that Will knew he was good at. As long as he held a pencil in his hand, he
could forget his own mediocrity. That’s
when everything seemed right with the world.
He looked through the sketches,
fixing a few errors, adding a mark or two to improve the picture. He couldn’t help but be impressed by his own
skill. He’d managed to capture the
essence of her on paper, tiny details he felt sure no one but him ever noticed:
the way her mouth curled slightly at the corners when she was amused, the way
her hands rested lightly on the table beside her, the way she leaned over her
book or computer whenever she was interested in what she was doing. He’d noticed how she absentmindedly tapped
her fingers or curled a lock of hair around her finger whenever she was deep in
concentration. She tilted her head
slightly to the side when she was confused or thoughtful about something (he
could tell the difference: confusion meant a furrowed brow, but thoughtful
meant looking at the sky through the window).
Will imagined showing her his drawings, impressing her with his
accuracy, with how closely he’d paid attention.
He almost felt as though he knew her intimately.
He thought of meeting her,
introducing himself, having an actual conversation with her. In his fantasies, he was always much cooler
and more mature than he was in reality. He pictured himself not as a scrawny, neurotic
17-year-old but instead as someone confident and charming, who always knew what
to say. He figured that was the sort of
guy she’d fall for – the charismatic yet intelligent Casanova who could sweep
her off her feet.
Will laughed at himself; he was about
as far from being Casanova as he was from being President of the United States
(probably further, since as a U.S. citizen, he theoretically had a shot at
being President).
He added one flourishing line to one of
his sketches before putting them away.
He put on a vinyl of his favorite Beatles album and set the needle to
his favorite song. Leaning back in his
desk chair, he closed his eyes and pictured her: graceful, beautiful…he didn’t
care how cheesy it sounded. She moved
and swayed, dancing in his mind’s eye to the soft sound of George Harrison’s
voice:
“Something in the way she moves…attracts me like no other lover…”
Will stood at the window in shock,
his rag lying forgotten on the table he was supposed to be cleaning. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the empty
table in the café across the street. She
wasn’t there. He craned his neck, trying
to get a glimpse of the other tables; she had to be there somewhere. She couldn’t just not be there. She was always
there.
He was distracted throughout the rest
of his shift. Josie yelled at him
several times that he needed to get his act together. He kept leaving cups on tables, forgetting to
wipe the table down, not rinsing dishes and putting them in the drying rack
still covered in soap. He didn’t
understand why she wasn’t there. What
had happened? Had he missed something,
some subconscious sign that she was changing up their routine?
Josie let him off early that day
(Will hoped that wasn’t a bad sign). He
couldn’t help glancing up at her table again as he stepped out into the cold
afternoon. Still empty. Disappointment crashed over him when he
realized he wouldn’t see her today. If
he couldn’t rely on their routine, there was even a chance (he admitted it was
slim and a little overdramatic) that he’d never see her again. The thought depressed him.
He turned to take his usual spot on
the bench (he’d already texted Courtney to let her know he was off work). His heart nearly stopped when he realized
there was already someone sitting there.
He took a step closer but jerked back in surprise and confusion when he
realized who it was.
The Girl looked up at him as he
approached; her face was blank and expressionless.
“Hi,” she said in a voice that struck
him like a light breeze and a symphony all at once.
It took Will a moment to remember how
his mouth worked.
“H-hey,” he stammered awkwardly after
a moment. She wasn’t looking at him
anymore; her eyes had dropped to her lap.
She looked like she might be crying.
He finally remembered how to move his legs and walked toward her,
feeling like each step covered a million miles or more. He sat down next to her on the bench, not
awkwardly close, but not too far either.
He was acutely aware of the fact that he was close enough to touch her.
He studied her out of the corner of
his eye, not wanting to make her uncomfortable with point-blank staring. She was even prettier up close, and he found
he was having a difficult time breathing properly. He couldn’t help noticing all the details
he’d gotten wrong in his sketches: her hair was messier than he’d noticed, her eyes
were much rounder, and her nails looked bitten and chewed. She didn’t wear any makeup, and she had a
light sprinkling of freckles all over her arms and face (so light that he
almost couldn’t see them…that’s how he could tell she wasn’t wearing
makeup). As he watched her discreetly, he
wished he could think of something witty to say to impress her and get her
attention, but his mind was blank.
She
let out a quiet, partly-suppressed sob.
He had to say something.
“Are
you okay?” he asked nervously. “Is
something wrong?”
“No,”
she sniffed. “I mean, yes…but not
really, no.”
She
glanced up at Will, who was sure his face betrayed his utter confusion.
“It’s
hard to explain,” she said.
“I’ve
got time,” he answered, smiling. “Is
there something I can do to help?”
“That’s
really sweet of you, but I’m fine, really,” she said. “I just…well, I finished my book this
afternoon.”
“Oh,”
he said, surprised. “Was it sad?”
“Not
really. Just…emotional? I’m not sad, exactly, just…reading it was
an…experience. You know?” She frowned.
Will
didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue what
she was talking about. He didn’t even
know why he’d tried talking to her; now she was going to think he was a
complete idiot. He wished he hadn’t said
anything.
Just
as he was cursing himself for his stupidity, she spoke.
“Do
you like books?”
He
looked at her. Her eyes were wide and
innocent, sparkling from the tears she’d shed, and her hair was blowing wildly
in the wind. She looked tired and
vulnerable and overwhelmingly human. The
image made his heart ache.
“I-I
don’t read much, no,” he said, hating himself for having to give her a
disappointing answer. He’d hoped she
wouldn’t ask that question.
She wasn’t discouraged by his reply.
“Well,
if you don’t read much, you must read
some.
What do you like?”
“Uh…just,
you know, a bit of sci-fi – er, science fiction…some fantasy, I guess. I like Stephen King –“
“Oh
I love Stephen King! He’s
fantastic! Which ones have you read?”
she burst out enthusiastically. Will was
taken aback by her intensity. She was no
longer crying (though her face was still a bit puffy and red); her eyes were
glinting with excitement.
He
told her which books he’d read, and she gushed over her favorites. She seemed to like the scariest, goriest ones
best; her favorite was Carrie (he
hadn’t read that one – he certainly would now).
A conversation about books turned to one about movies, then music. Will was surprised at how much they had in
common. She didn’t listen to all the
same music as him, but she was a Beatles fan (“Who isn’t?” she’d said). They discussed their favorite songs and
whether Lennon or McCartney was the better songwriter (“Come on,” he’d said. “Eleanor Rigby?” “For No One?”
Paul’s totally got John beat, no question.” “Yeah right!
“Strawberry Fields Forever” alone blows both of those out of the water!”).
Neither of them noticed the
temperature or the sun go down until Courtney pulled up in front of Floyd’s.
“Oh
wow, it’s 5:30 already,” he said, standing up.
“Whoa,
I had no idea it was so late,” she said, eyes wide (she expressed so much with her eyes; “window to the
soul” didn’t even cover it). “I didn’t
realize we’d been sitting here so long!
I better get home or my mom’ll be pissed.” She looked up at Will and smiled. “I never did get your name.”
“Will,”
he said, unable to restrain a smile of his own.
“I’m
Lorraine. Nice to meet you, Will.” She held out her hand, and he shook it, smiling
slightly at the mock formality.
Will
couldn’t help staring at her in wonder.
He’d never envisioned this, pictured her this way. He felt as though he’d crossed the universe,
and it was better than he could ever have imagined. She was so…ordinary. It was amazing.
Courtney
honked the horn to get his attention, and they both jumped.
“I
gotta go,” he said quickly. He took a
step toward the car, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. Though he’d been staring at her for the
better part of a month now, he felt like he was really seeing her for the first
time.
Courtney
honked again, and Lorraine said, “You’d better go before she decides to just
run us over and save herself the trouble.”
He
nodded, waved, and turned toward the car.
“Hey
Will?”
He
looked back at her. It wasn’t like
looking at the sun so much as watching a still painting come to life. He shook his head slightly in amazement.
“I’ll
see you around.” She grinned, giving him
a mock salute.
“Count on it,” he answered, returning
her smile. “It was nice meeting you,
Lorraine.”
