Soulmate in the Stone

"Will you just take the damn picture already?"

"Hang on. It's not my fault that your phone is so complicated," she muttered under her breath. "Oh wait, here, I got it. Ready? One, two, three, chees-"

"Aaargh!" With a thud, I land on the stone step beneath me. I lift my head up, noticing something heavy pinning half my body down. "What the fu-"

"Oh my God! Gwen??"

I glance at Avery, still holding with my phone and utterly shocked by whatever just happened. And that’s when the thing on top of me stirs, and, as I turn my head back, I suddenly come face to face with a guy, actually THE guy (despite many assurances from my doctor, I still maintain that this is when I had my first heart attack.) I should pause and back up for a minute and explain what was happening right before the photo was taken and who the heck this dude is.

So, basically, there's this statue in Central Park that's been there forever. It's a metallic carving of this (stunningly beautiful) guy standing with his arms slightly forward and his hands facing out - kinda like he's about to give you a double high-five. Anyways, there's this urban legend that he will come to life when his soulmate touches his hands - fun, right? Sort of a sword-in-the-stone type deal. It's always been a popular tourist spot and, recently, has become a major sought-after photo-op for Instagrammers. The hands even turned a goldish-brown color over the years from all the human contact.

As for me, I moved to New York after graduating college in a “what’ve I got to lose?” attempt to start my writing career. And guess what, now I’m a successful writer….NOT! That was two years ago, and I’m proud to say I’ve found an equally fulfilling job as a Brooklyn bookstore cashier. That’s right kids, follow your dreams and someday you’ll make 12.75 and entertain yourself by judging customers by their taste in novels, all the while knowing that you should be at home writing your own. “How does this relate to the story?” you may ask. Good question, it DOESN’T, but therapy is expensive so you get to sit here and listen to me. Merry Christmas. Back to the statue though; when my friend Avery, who’d also moved here after college, found out I’d lived here for two years and hadn’t been to the statue, she dragged me out of my tiny apartment at one-freaking-a.m. and all the way to the park, where this story begins. Okay, phew, I think you’re all caught up, so let’s continue.

Yeah, so here I am, lying face-up on the concrete and staring dumbfounded into the eyes of the statue I’d been taking a picture with. Well, not exactly a statue, cause the eyes were brown and blinking at me and attached to a very much alive and real living, breathing man, whose shock and confusion definitely mirrored my own. Finally, after a couple more shocked seconds, the realization of his position dawned on him, and he hastily got up, stumbling as he did so. He looked around him at the trees, his gaze finally landing on the empty pedestal where he’d been moments ago. He examined his hands and shifted his arms, carefully touching his chest, lingering on the area above his heart, then slowly outlining the features of his face: his slightly crooked nose, full lips, and strong jaw, and finally moving his hands up through his dark wavy hair.

At this point, most of my initial shock had worn off, and my brain started working again. Was this real? Did that just happen?

“Gwen is that…?”

I spun around to a somewhat-traumatized Avery, who I had honestly forgotten amid all the chaos. “The statue-guy?” I asked annoyingly nonchalant, “Yep, he appears to be the very same fellow.”

“Jude.”

I watched Avery’s eyes widen upon hearing this unfamiliar male voice.

“My name. It’s Jude,” he clarified once we were both facing him.

“Well, Jude, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Gwen, your soulmate.”

-To be continued….