A Tiny Bit Mortal

by Lindsay Bassett

  His eyes widened as he tilted his head to the side, processing my rude words. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

  I looked away and saw him studying me from the corner of my eye. “Oh God.” I thought. I’d heard it a million times. How many green eyed, pale, wild haired women like me were there out in the world? I had yet to meet one.

  Grabbing my coat and leaning on my arm to push myself up off of the seat, I paused when I realized I’d always responded in the same way. On a whim, I decided I would settle back into my seat. I shifted my body to face him.

  “Where do you think you know me from?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.” he said, slowly.

  Leaning forward, his eyes became vacant and zombie like. “You just….your face…so beautiful.” He stammered.

  I looked down at the floor. The whole conversation had been embarrassing from the beginning. That was what I got for operating outside of my norms.

  I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. After shoving aside my dread I turned back to look at him. Furrowing his brow, he lifted his hand to rub his palm against his forehead.

  “What were you saying?” he said.

  “You said you knew me from somewhere.” I said, drawing circles on my knee with my index finger.

  Looking up at the ceiling, he seemed to be searching his mind for something. After shaking his head and shuddering, he pushed himself up from his seat. He looked back at me over his shoulder and said “Sorry” before he walked away.

  Pushing the door open, I walked into the parking lot and stopped in front of my car. The wind picked up and blew my hair back from my face. It rustled the leaves in the square rows of landscaped bushes. I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled the chilly air.

  I laughed to myself as I got into the car. The whole situation seemed nuts. I’d heard the “so beautiful” thing before, but I had assumed it went along with the “time to get into bed together” part of a relationship.

  On autopilot, I drove home deep in thought. Headlights from the opposite lane on the highway flashed in my eyes through the darkness as I contemplated my deteriorating mental health. My stake-out for the devil had come to an end, and I resolved to restore my life back to normal.

  Feeling the cold bite against my face, I walked into the park early on a January morning. December had passed by swiftly, and I’d avoided traveling up to see my mom for Christmas, using the bad weather and the icy roads as an excuse.

  Surrounded by a grove of massive sycamore trees on a tiny hillside, I faced the Japanese gardens in the distance. The trees were bare; the bark looked painted in whitewash.

  My soft gray scarf was wrapped tightly around my neck keeping it warm, but my ears burned from the cold. Watching my breath turn into fog as I exhaled, I slipped my bare hands into the pockets of my black wool pea-coat to warm them.

  It was a quiet morning. Lithia Park in Ashland was a place of peaceful solitude that time of year, and that early in the morning. I heard the sound of a man walking his dog on the street below, by the sound of his dog’s collar going clink, clink, clink as they walked along. Only locals walking their dogs and hardcore joggers were out in this frigid weather. The few people in the park that morning had a destination, but not me.

  Picking up a little stone, I threw it as far as I could. It ricocheted off of a tree close by and settled on the ground. Staring into the shadows where it had landed, I felt vacant.

  The coffee shop entered my mind, where I had spent so many days waiting for something, anything out of the ordinary to happen again. I had studied every face there, coming and going. They had all looked the same, nothing out of the ordinary.

  Normally I’d retreat to working more when things felt disappointing, uncomfortable, or lonely. That day was different. Putting aside my previous resolution to return to normal life, I walked out my door and went a different direction. I was planning to go to work a few hours early, but after staring at my parked car for a while turned and walked up the street. I’d wandered past the busy plaza and up into the park.

  Hearing the sound of my heart beating, I stepped through the shadows of the rows and columns of trees that seemed more like a roman cathedral than a grove. Brushing my fingertips across the smooth trunks, I inhaled and exhaled deeply. The fog from my warm breath in the cold air hovered around me.

  Facing the sunlight from the rising sun, I closed my eyes and felt the warmth on my face. I stood there for some time, aware of the feeling of simply existing. In that moment, I felt like I’d been so many strangers to myself. Sometimes I still believed there was more to the world than I could see, and other times I knew there wasn’t. “Who am I?” I thought, feeling lame for being twenty-nine years old and still asking myself that question.

  Descending the hillside of the grove, I stepped down the street and made my way towards home. As I was walking along, I took a closer look around me. The plaza with its shops had become such familiar scenery that I normally walked through the area with tunnel vision. It was relatively quiet that early, and most of the shops other than the coffee and breakfast sort were closed.

  I passed by the plaza and crossed the street, taking a fresh look at my surroundings for the first time in years. I normally went down one more block, and then up the street to my apartment, but that time I went up the opposite side.

  Walking slowly with my hands in my pockets, I peered into each of the closed shops: children's clothes, chocolates, fancy shoes, and then a door to what appeared to be shops on the interior. I’d never been in there before. I stood there looking in, hands in my pockets, cold breath making fog on the window. Then I had an impulse, reached down and pushed on the door handle. It opened.

  I walked in and saw an art gallery on the right that was dark inside and locked up. Everything was so quiet. I walked down to the end of the hall, observing works of art for sale in the hallway.

  At the end of a hall, there was a rocky fountain built into the wall, and full of pennies. I looked left, and right, and both were dark halls with closed doors at the end. The left hall led to a dimly lit EXIT sign.

  Meandering back the way I came in, I peered into a shop on the right. I was startled to find it open, well lit, and with with a man at the very end of the shop behind a counter. I didn’t see it at all on my way in.

  He was looking right back at me. He had short brown ringlet hair, and deep brown eyes locked onto me uncomfortably. I could only see him in pieces, like the man in the coffee shop. It was like he was out of focus, but I could briefly focus on a piece at a time.

  Feeling like I got caught doing something strange, I tried to act natural. Smiling like I was a cheery shopper, I walked into the shop. Aware of him watching me, I peered into the glass counters.

  The jewelry was beautiful. Silver and jewels, forged together in the most stunning way. My eyes landed on a necklace, that had a tiny silver locket that looked like it was covered in tree roots.

  Looking up, I saw the out of focus figure of the man on the other side of the counter. I hadn’t heard him approach. All I could do was look down at the locket, and mumble “beautiful.”

  “I can hear your heart beating.” he said.

  Speechless, I stood motionless looking down at the locket. I was beginning to feel overheated in my winter clothes. Looking up at the figure, I saw his brown eyes looking into my eyes. I felt a feeling of familiar and then in one swift, overwhelming rush he came into focus. It felt like being hit with a tidal wave directly in the face.

  His hair was short, full of brown curly locks. His skin was ivory, like mine, set with big brown eyes, a concerned brow, and a very Roman like nose. He was distinct, proportional, and beautiful.

  “Would you like to try it on?” he asked.

  I remembered I was in a shop and it was a perfectly reasonable question. Had I been hearing things a minute ago?

  “Yes, please.” I said.

  He removed the necklace from the back of the case and then made his way around the counter.
He walked behind me and then brushed my hair in one sweep over my shoulder. It left a warm, tingling trail everywhere his hand brushed against me.

  Feeling the necklace fall to my chest, the back of my neck tickled as he clasped the necklace. I touched the necklace on my chest and looked down at it for a moment.

  “How much is it?” I asked.

  Before I could finish my sentence he was standing in front of me. Feeling his eyes on me, I kept mine locked on to the shining silver of the necklace.

  “How much?” He asked back.

  Not knowing what to say, I just stood there, trying to process an appropriate answer. He reached up and touched my fingers that were still on the locket. My heart raced, and my breathing felt shallow. I felt lightheaded.

  His hand was warm, and I felt a strong impulse to reach up and touch him with my left hand. I placed my left hand in my pocket.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” he said, gently.

  Looking up from the silver locket, I met his eyes again. I felt like I was falling backwards, inside myself. “I am here.” I said, breaking away from the idea I was just a shopper and he was just a shop keeper.

  “You should keep the necklace.” he said. “But the day is starting and you can’t be here. I don’t know what they would do.”

  I wasn’t sure who they were, or how to even respond.

  “Please come back.” he said with a smile. “I want to see you again, please. But you have to go now.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. He took my hand in his, and I wanted to keep it there. Everything inside me wanted to stay in that surreal moment.

  He led me towards the door, turned to face me, and held both of my hands in his. “Goodbye.” he said.

  “Goodbye.” I said.

  Pulling myself away was difficult, but I knew it was the proper thing to do after a goodbye. I slowly pulled my hands from his, with a tingling rush shooting up both of my arms, dizzying.

  He held open the door for me, and I walked out, floating inside of myself. I felt myself emerge from the building and out into the cold. I felt alive.

  Jogging toward my apartment with my gray scarf flapping in the wind behind me, I reached up to touch the necklace as though it would disappear at any moment. My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest.

  Locking the deadbolt of my apartment door behind me, I stood in the entryway with my chest heaving. Wandering into my book room with my hand over the locket on my chest, I sat on the dusty blue chaise lounge.

  Closing my eyes, I could feel my heart beating under my hand that rested over the locket on my chest. His words, “I can hear your heart beating,” played in my mind. I felt a rush, like I had just consumed a whole pot of coffee, and my heart raced.

  George hopped up next to me, with a loud thwump and a “prrrbt mrow” as he landed. His landing startled me back into reality. Letting go of the locket, I put my arm over him and reached under his ear to scratch. He leaned into me and purred loudly.

  After George fell asleep, stretched out across the lounge chair like a long ferret, I knew it was time to go to work. I drifted down the stairs, into my car, across town, and through my day. It felt like a tiny flicker, and then I was back in my entryway, locking the same door as I’d unlocked on my way out.

  Wandering into my room, I reached up to touch the locket. The novelty that it was still there, solid, had not worn off. Crouching down at the end of my bed, I sat in front of my big old trunk. Lifting the lid, I remembered having it in my room since I was a little girl. It looked like something from a pirate ship. It was the one thing I had that was my Dad’s though none of its contents were his.

  Pulling out blankets and sheets, I tossed them around me. On the bottom was an unorganized pile of my childhood treasures. There were pictures cut out of magazines, a silver barrette, and a broken string of artificial pearls. I gently lifted my treasures and pulled out the large scrapbook from underneath.

  It had a brown leather cover, with an intricate “E” in calligraphy, for Emily. My mother made it for me when I was born - not your typical pink baby book.

  The first page was a picture of me, one day old. I was so tiny and soft looking, with a little tuft of my future wild hair. It was much lighter when I was little, almost blond.

  Next to the picture was a copy of my birth certificate, written in pretty cursive. I was born on September 19th, 1980. Emily Augustine Williams. My mother was Ellen J. Williams. I traced my fingers over my father’s name.

  Nicholas York was his name. My parents were never married, and my mother gave me her last name. He had died well before I was born.

  Flipping through the pages, they were all of me and my mother, or my childhood home. Not one picture was of my dad. Of course I knew there wouldn’t be, but I inspected every detail of every picture, hoping for even a tiny clue of where I came from.

  Closing the book, I sat it on the floor next to me. Easing myself down, I rested on my back in the middle of the mess of blankets and sheets. I closed my eyes.

  Picturing the face of the man in the jewelry store, I wished I had asked him his name. I replayed over and over every second of the few minutes with him. Every move and every touch replayed until I drifted off to sleep and woke up at dawn. I dragged my feet into the living room and turned on Dido’s Lament from the opera by Henry Purcell.

  Twisting the long stick to open the blinds, I looked out the window down at the street, and then toward the view of the mountains. I stood there, with my hands at my sides, watching the sky change from dusty blue to a sherbet orange with the sun rising.

  There was something going on with my heart, making my breath uneven and quick. I kept trying to talk myself out of it, but my talking side seemed to be losing. I wanted to see him again. I had to.

  IV

  Peter

  I had to go in to work and there wasn’t enough time left in my morning to try to make it to the jewelry store. Painfully distracted, I went through the motions and barely managed to get the minimum of work done. I had to collaborate with Rick for about an hour, in which he asked me several times “Are you okay, Emily?” I mustered up my best “Of course” each time.

  Feeling the fabric of my dusty blue chaise lounge with my hands at my sides, I realized that I barely remembered leaving work, the drive home, or getting into my apartment. Looking over, I saw George curled up, sleeping, on the white throw blanket that had fallen off the back of the chair and onto the seat. As I watched his plump furry middle rise and fall, I wondered when I could go back to the jewelry shop. The man had been worried about how they would find me, and I wasn’t sure who they were, or when they’d be there.

  Deciding to go for walk, I made my way toward the shop. The sky was growing dark with the evening, and many of the shops were closing up as the restaurants bustled with the dinner crowd. I approached the window of the jewelry shop that faced the sidewalk.

  Not wanting to stand in front of the window and stare, I casually leaned on the wall next to the window, and looked sideways into the shop. There were a few blurry, out of focus figures inside, in addition to my new friend that I could see clearly. They moved about, peering into the jewelry cases.

  Long and wavy, shiny, golden blond locks caught my attention. I saw a glimpse of soft ivory skin, rosy lips, and then blue eyes that looked straight up at me. Jolting sideways, I rushed back towards my apartment without looking back while my heartbeat pounded in my ears.

  With a smile, I drifted into my apartment. I had found something, finally. Either proof I was going insane, or proof to myself I had found more to the world. It didn’t matter to me which one was true. I felt satisfied.

  Sitting up in my bed at 4:30am, I was unable and unwilling to fall back to sleep. Ripping off my blanket and throwing it to the side, I felt ecstatic and nervous all at the same time.

  After a shower, I tamed my hair, and dressed in my nicest black skirt, with my nicest black shirt, gray tights and my shiniest black Mary Jane shoes. Wrapping myself i
n my coat, I stepped in front of my hall mirror. I stood and looked at myself, intently. I looked right into my own eyes, and it felt familiar.

  With the same overwhelming rush that I felt with the man in the jewelry store, there I was, completely in focus. I saw myself, wholly, for the first time. Everything about me seemed soft, and gentle. My green eyes were so expressive under my feminine smooth brow - my full red lips on the verge of a sweet smile over my round little chin.

  My hair wasn’t just “wild,” but wavy, a shiny light brown that set off the softness of my ivory skin. It flowed in waves over my chest and ended mid-waist. I held the picture of myself in my mind. There I was. I finally held it. I treasured it.

  Locking the front door behind me, I slowly descended the stair well. Walking toward the jewelry shop, I tried to calm myself down the whole way. I was riddled with adrenaline, my palms clammy, my body feeling rubbery, and my heart beating wildly.

  Throwing open the door, I entered the hall, and then opened the door to the shop with my sweaty hands. My storm immediately calmed when I saw his face. He was smiling, wearing a sharp outfit of khaki pants, a white button up shirt and a dark blue tie.

  He darted towards me faster than I could comprehend. He wrapped his arms around me. If it were the time before, I would have been stunned, but after so many hours of him running through my mind the day before, nothing felt more natural.

  Learning into his embrace, I felt small in his arms. We stayed there for some time, never for a moment becoming awkward. He pulled himself away from me and put his hands on my face. He was just tall enough that I had to tilt up my chin to meet his eyes. I stared into his dark brown eyes and reached up to touch his brown curly hair with my finger tips.

  “Do you see me,” he said. “or do you see my beauty?”

  “I see you.” I said, wondering what kind of question that was.

  He smiled. “Will you come sit with me in my office?” He asked. “Can we talk?”