Twin Crucibles - Part II

** (Part I: https://theprose.com/post/160600/twin-crucibles-part-i)

The guitar seemed to sing along with Amy as she played and, more often than not, the folks passing by would stop for a moment to listen. More than one had to wipe away a tear as they dropped their spare change in her guitar case.

        She had Brandon's picture—the only one she had of him— taped inside the lid, and a small wreath of flowers next to a RIP sign stood in the depression the guitar sat in when it wasn't being played. Amy knew she was quite skilled. It was one of the only things she did better than Brandon. He always teased her that he would improve someday. Now that would never happen.

        She finished the song she was singing, and took a long swallow from the soda at her side. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and she knew the after-work crowd would be passing through the park soon. It was the best time of day to make money busking, and her obvious mourning for Brandon, enhanced by the black sweater and boots she had found at a thrift store nearby, made this the most productive time of day for her.

        She had only been here for three days, but she had already spotted a few regulars, and most of them smiled back when she made eye contact. It seemed strange that she could even do this, but it felt like she was someone new now.

        There was one older man in a jean jacket and baseball hat pulled low over his eyes that she had seen every day now. She caught his eyes yesterday, and something seemed wrong about him. He never approached her, but spent a lot of time seated across the green grass on a bench, reading a paper. She tried to ignore him. His beard and those shadowed eyes frightened her in a way she hadn't been frightened since she left Howard's house a week ago.

        Her troubled thoughts were eased somewhat by the appearance of the short guy in the cardigan. He had passed her every day since she had started playing in the park, and he always stopped to listen. He would be there, and his eyes would be far away. She tried to smile at him, but he only blushed and hurried off.

        She imagined his name was Pete. Somehow ‘Pete’ made her feel safer when he was standing here watching her play. He was kind of cute too, but probably married. That would be just her luck.

        She finished her song and looked up. The strange man in the baseball hat, gave her a small salute, and with a dark smile, he stood and walked off into the trees.

Her name was Amy, and Mike knew he had to see her again. Thursday morning had come and gone, and the bright sunshine of the 11:00 a.m. low tide had gone with it. Funny how much your mind can change in just a couple days.

        Monday morning, he had been set to live out his last three days in quiet solitude. Then he had seen her. He had been terrified that if she ever talked to him he wouldn't be able to form coherent speech. She was so beautiful, and her voice was so pure and sweet. He had stopped every day after work this week and listened to her sing and play her guitar in the park. She had smiled at him once, and the feeling that coursed through his whole body had scared him. It was like electricity, and he wanted more almost as much as he was afraid of it.

        Somehow, he found himself preoccupied with things at work yesterday, and then his lunch break and the shot at his perfect exit was over.

        He had built up his courage all afternoon, and on the way home last night, he had stopped once again to listen to her play. There was a small crowd gathered around her, but as he approached they seemed to part like the Red Sea. Her smile wasn't just beaming, it was radiant; he almost wept at the sheer beauty she was projecting. And she was projecting it at him!

        He smiled back and she paused in her singing. Her fingers continued to caress sweet music from the strings of her guitar, but her eyes were trained on him, and he felt as if they were the only two people here, though the crowd was still rapt.

        "Hello." Just one simple word.

        Instead of his terror freezing him, it seemed to fly off with the sound of her voice. "Hi. You play beautifully."

        A small laugh. "Why, thank you, kind sir." She finished her song and stood as the people applauded and money sprinkled into her guitar case. She let the instrument fall against the strap that tucked it's mysterious way under the hair at the base of her neck. "I'm Amy."

        He reached out to shake the hand she offered, and when they touched he was sure that both of their eyes dilated ever so slightly. Something strong, and sweet, and real passed between them and he continued to hold her hand.

        "Amy. Pleased to meet me. Your name is as Mike as my beautiful eyes do."

        Her eyes crinkled at the corners and her mirth wouldn't be constrained. She laughed and grinned at him. "Well, Mike, I am pleased to meet you." She leaned closer and whispered loudly, "and I think your eyes are very cute."

        Realization of what he had said flooded through him and he could feel his face turning red.

        "I can't believe I said that. Would you forgive me if I bought you dinner?"

        "Oh, I'd love to, but I have plans tonight." His crestfallen features must have been evident, because she squeezed the hand which was still holding hers. "Are you free tomorrow? I hear the Saturday Market here is nice."

        "Sure. I'd love to take you at breakfast... I mean have you for breakfast... I mean... yes, I'll be here tomorrow." Her laughter somehow calmed his nerves. "What time works for you?"

        "I'll be here about 10:00, is that okay?"

        "Great. I'll see you then Amy."

        He walked away, knowing that if he turned back around, he would never be able to leave. The fear that this wasn't real was only slightly stronger than the fear that it was - but one way or another, he knew he had to see her again.

Amy sighed and carried her gym bag into the public facilities at the entrance to the park.

        The bathroom itself was old and consisted of three stalls, one without a door, a cracked porcelain sink and a steel mirror that might have offered a reflection 40 years ago when it was new. She changed into her other pair of pants and the last of her three shirts. She had found a few things at a second-hand store across town, but after she bought this used change of clothes and some new underwear, her cash was running dangerously low.

Last night had been a bust. The kids she had met had told her about the shelter, but when she had gone there it only took one look at the despair in the eyes of everyone there to make her wary. They offered her a bunk, but the mattress was old and yellowed and wasn't much bigger than the back seat of her car.

        She declined.

        As she left, she had given an old man on the sidewalk three dollars; the look in his eyes broke her heart.

        She had gone back to her car and parked in the lot of a 24-hour grocery store. She fell asleep thinking about Mike—he still looked like a Pete to her—and she could feel herself smile as she drifted off to sleep.

        This morning, after her refreshing trip to the old bathroom, she felt much better. It was amazing what the simple act of brushing your teeth could do.

        She checked the wristwatch the tall woman had given her the second day she was here. She had stopped to listen to Amy play, and then with eyes that were guilty of something, and tears that said she regretted whatever it was, she took off her watch and dropped it in the guitar case. It was only a Casio, but it was now one of Amy’s most treasured possessions.

        9:30. Almost time for Mike to show up.

        She sat down on the walkway in what she now thought of as "her" spot. The morning air was warm, but not hot. California was so much nicer than... well, than anyplace Amy had ever been.

        Suddenly, a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind. Her first thought was excitement that Mike had surprised her, but that feeling turned to dread as she smelled the unmistakable scent of Old Spice and beer sweat.

        Howard!

        She started to scream, but the hands left her eyes and she felt a sharp line at her neck, and a hand across her mouth.

        "Shhh." A hoarse whisper. "It's all gonna be okay. But remember, you are mine!" This last was whispered with venom and it froze her mind.

        As suddenly as it had started, the hands and that red-hot line were gone. She turned and there was no one there. In the distance she thought she saw someone with a baseball cap on, but even that was gone when she looked back a second time.

        She spun around, afraid to stand still, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, let alone yell.

        Mike appeared from around a corner, and waved at her, a big goofy smile on his face. She had time to notice his smile fade as she ran toward the safety of his arms.

Mike sat in the chair by the window and stared out at the darkened street without really seeing it. His mind would not slow down, and for perhaps the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth, he let his eyes travel back to the sleeping figure on his couch.

        Somehow, just having Amy here made this room feel like a home, in a way it never had before. It already felt like he had known her for a million years, and he found it hard to believe that it had only been yesterday she said hello to him for the first time.

        He had been concerned when she had come running to him this morning. When she flew into his arms, he had been stunned, but the total trust she showed as she broke down and cried into his neck melted his heart, and created an almost tangible bond between them. The feel of her thin arms crushing him so tightly had awoken something in him, and as she explained what had happened, his incredulity became anger - and the anger became protective fury.

        Mike was a small man in a large world, but with Amy in his arms, he felt larger than life, and he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe, or to make her happy.

        They had walked to an espresso shop/book store on the uptown side of the park, and over bagels and rich coffee she had told him more about herself. In turn he told her about himself, and for the first time ever, he spoke about the before. About Emily, and Mama and even Papa, who he only faintly remembered. She told him about her mother and her twin brother. Their shared loss completed the process that her trust had begun. He was hers now, whether she knew it or not.

        He had tried to get her to file a police report, but she refused. She had no proof that anyone was there, let alone a man who lived over a thousand miles away.

        They had spent the entire day together, and as the sun started to sink, she had guided him back to her car.

        "No." He had been adamant. "You are not staying in your car. I have plenty of room. I can use my couch and you can sleep in a real bed."

        He knew this offer was one that might make her pull away from him. She had been badly hurt, and he didn't really know how deep that hurt went or how much damage had been done.

        She surprised him yet again, and smiled. "On one condition. I will take the couch."

        He had smiled at her as well.

        "Okay, two conditions..."

        He was ready to swear his allegiance to keeping her safe, to do anything she needed him to do, so she would know that he would never hurt her in any way.

        "Number two is that I get to make dinner for you. I have enough cash left to buy what I need. I make a great mac & cheese."

        Now, watching her sleep as the plates they had eaten from sat in the dish-rack on the counter, he thought he had never tasted better mac & cheese in his whole life. She hadn't hesitated, but held his hand the whole way up the stairs while he carried the small bag of groceries—which he had refused to let her pay for—up to his apartment.

        Looking out the window once again he saw her car, parked next to the curb under a streetlight. As he watched, a green semi truck pulled up to the intersection below, and sat there. This seemed like the wrong part of town for a truck like that, but it wasn't unheard of.

        The truck, which had been facing him, turned right. It rolled slowly past his building, then was merely fading taillights on the road.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** (Part III: https://theprose.com/post/155125/twin-crucibles-part-iii)