Short Story- Angel

Nov 04, 2008 14:02

The linebyline line I missed is "with these", and so I leave you with this (haha). It's rather long for a short story, but I really like it. It's a Christmas story, despite the fact that we haven't passed Thanksgiving yet. If store can do it so can I!!!

Anyway...


Angel

He seemed too good to be true. Really, he did. Not only was he the exact image of her perfect guy- red hair, freckles, yet somehow with lovely baby blues- but he liked all her favorite books, movies, TV shows, and even the little family-owned cafe down the street no one new ever stopped in.

That was where she met him one December day. He was drinking a vanilla latte, her favorite flavor, and reading The Daily Post. Her article in the Post, actually.

Patsy, the owner, greeted her warmly. "Hey, Darlene, congrats on getting published! The Post's been selling like hotcakes!"

His head snapped up, and he said "You're name's Darlene? Darlene Sampson?"

She nodded, shy, unused to fame, and tucked her blonde hair behind her left ear.

"Forgive me for being so forward, but I just love your article! The parallel structure of it really highlights the comparison you're making between Merthon and Henry."

That was exactly what she had been going for, and so she was delighted someone had noticed it. "Thank you so much."

"Not at all, not at all. Compliments were more than deserved. Won't you join me for a cup?"

"Sure," Darlene said, liking this guy more and more. She slid into the little booth and crossed her ankles nervously under the table.

Only minutes later she was laughing with abandon, all apprehension forgotten. Nathaniel was also an aspiring journalist, and so that was the logical starting point of their conversation. The conversation gradually shifted to politics, the subject of her article, and the pair were in agreement over nearly every issue. After that, the subjects became much less serious, from pets to colleges to eventually swapping jokes.

At some point Darlene realized that she was late for work, and ended up sprinting down the block to the train station. Sitting in an oddly empty car, her thoughts began to wander rapid-fire. She had been dumped by her fiance only a month ago, and was so closed off that all of her friends had stopped talking to her as well, except for Patsy in her desperate attempt to save her from what she called the "downward spiral". Yeah, whatever. In fact, she hadn't said more than ten words to any one person until that morning and Nathaniel. Except at bars when she was drunk, which happened increasingly often.

Preoccupied with thoughts like those, she was absolutely useless at work that day, as her editor was quick to point out. Just because she'd written the best article of the week, and sales were off the charts, didn't give her the right to be lazy, Darlene had been chastized, and decided to cut out early for a much-needed Vodka. Or two.

Imagine her surprise when she exited the train to find Nathaniel sitting on a bench, this time reading USA Today. She abruptly changed course, turning westward down the street. She'd been thinking too much about her fiance on the ride back, and was hurting too much to even think about having a conversation with another man. Especially one that could very well be stalking her.

Two hours later in the local bar, she was begging the bartender for another shot of tequila. In slurred tones, she said "I've only had four!"

"I think four is quite enough, don't you think?" She squinted drunkenly at the sound, which turned out to be coming from Nathaniel's mouth.

"Mind your own business," she spat, and stumbled off the bar stool to grab her coat. Nathaniel walked right alongside her.

"Alright, but at least let me help you get home first." He was not to be dissuaded, and so Darlene had no choice but to let him walk her home.

She was weaving all over the sidewalk, and would have fallen over several times if it weren't for Nathaniel's arm around her waist. His arm was warm, as was his whole body, so when the cold wind began to seep in despite her jacket she leaned into him. “You smell like a Christmas tree,” she giggled.

“It’s pine,” he breathed softly, concentrating on keeping Darlene upright.

When they got to her apartment, she spent nearly fifteen minutes fumbling with her keys, so that Nathaniel ended up gently removing them from her hands and opening the door for her.

Darlene stumbled over the threshold, and managed a small smile before slamming the door shut. She managed to hold on for all of two seconds before the wracking sobs escaped her lips.

This continued for the next week and a half: Darlene running into Nathaniel at the café, then the train station, and finally him walking her home and the uncontrollable tears.

Then, one night after Darlene had gotten wasted at the bar, it started snowing. The snow fell down in thick clumps, getting stuck in both of their hair. Nathaniel had a bright maroon scarf on, which he pulled up over his ears. Together with the hat he pulled down low, it left only his eyes visible.

Darlene had no such covering, having left her winter gear at her desk. She was shivering uncontrollably, all the while asserting “I’m fine!” and attempting to shove Nathaniel away from her.

Nathaniel, as usual, was having none of it, so he flagged down a passing taxi to take them home. Darlene was still incredibly cold, so she pressed herself even closer to him. He hugged her close and rubbed his hand up and down her arm, trying to warm her up.

When they reached her apartment, she once again fumbled for her keys while Nathaniel removed his gloves, hat, and scarf. Darlene glanced up and met his eyes. Suddenly, she screwed her eyes shut and sloppily kissed him on the lips with abandon.

He gently pushed her away, and she continued to stare into his eyes. Then, without warning, being unable to hold them back any longer, she burst into tears, right in the hallway.

Nathaniel gently slid to the floor, Darlene still sobbing into his chest. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back long into the morning, when she finally fell asleep, her head on his lap.

After that, Darlene kept nothing from Nathaniel. She told him all about her fiancé, and her pain, and all the problems she’d been having. And he told her about his life, and his problems, and how he dealt with them, for example by playing harmonica.

The pair began officially dating soon after. Darlene became much happier, much less reserved, and soon she was consistently published and constantly praised. Nights spent alone in the bar were replaced with nights curled up watching movies, or eating fantastic meals in fancy restaurants, or ballroom dancing with Nate. Her name changed, too, first to the obvious Darling, and then to Honey, a name chosen due to her honey-colored eyes and hair and her sweet disposition.

By Christmas week the drinking had stopped altogether, as had the tears. Darlene still missed her fiancé, but now she understood he wasn’t the only good guy out there. He wasn’t her only chance at love or happiness.

Nate provided more than enough of that. He was always ready with hugs and encouragement, and a sweet little song on his harmonica. She would always go to sleep with a smile snuggled into his chest, breathing in the sweet scent of pine needles, and something else, something completely different but absolutely wonderful.

When she woke up Christmas morning, smiling as usual, she smelled vanilla latte coming from the kitchen, and pine from the tree in the corner of the room. But that other scent, that distinctly Nate smell, was missing. Darlene sat up abruptly and pulled on her robe over her flannel pajamas.

Nate was nowhere to be found, not in the apartment at all. Frowning slightly, she returned to the bedroom. And then she noticed the tree that Nate had decorated beautifully with twinkling lights and golden bulbs. And on top, an angel dressed all in white sang from a song book.

Under the tree was a beautifully wrapped gift. Delighted, Darlene eagerly snatched it up, but then slowed down to unwrap it, careful not to destroy the paper, also decorated with angels.

Inside was a picture frame, made of pine wood, with intricate patterns hand-carved into it, and also a harmonica. Nate’s harmonica, Darlene realized with a start. There was also a note inside.

My Darling Honey:

I’m incredibly happy right now, you have no idea. Or maybe you do. (she could almost hear him laugh) I have you, the most wonderful woman in the world, who’s smart and funny and incredibly beautiful. And, I just got offered a prestigious job, with the Washington Post. Which, as you know, is not in New York.

After much soul searching, I’ve decided I have to go. I can’t let an opportunity like this pass me by. But, with this decision, comes extreme heartache. Because it means leaving you, Darlene.

I know you probably hate me for this, but just know that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I really do, Honey. And so, with these gifts, I also leave you my heart. I hope it’s enough. I know you’ll be sad, but you deserve someone so much better than me anyway. Just, please promise me this: don’t go back to the drinking. You’re so much better than that. Play away your sadness on the harmonica, like I do.

You are the most amazing, incredible woman in the world, Darlene Sampson. Never forget that. Go off and find happiness. You deserve it.

All my love,
Nate

She was shocked, stunned. She began to cry, tears rolling down her face like a river. She got up and was about to pour the wine into the glass when she remembered his one request : don’t go back to the drinking. Her wonderful Nate didn’t want her to drink. And so she wouldn’t. “I won’t!” she asserted as she threw the bottle into the trash.

She went back to the room and picked up the harmonica. It had little wings engraved onto the wooden part of it, something she’d never noticed before. She touched them once, wistfully, and then began to play.

Years later, Darlene still played on Nate’s harmonica. Her daughter couldn’t get enough of the sound. She still kept the picture frame she received, too, but it now held a picture of her and her husband, his dark hair making hers look like pure gold. She still thought of Nate, but always fondly, never in sadness.

Her husband always told their kids that Christmastime is a time for miracles, a time when angels come down and walk the streets with us. She would just smile and nod at them, a smile that went all the way down to her heart, her soul.

Because on top of their Christmas tree was an angel, a red-haired angel with baby blue eyes. It carried a songbook in its hand where there was written “Believe, Honey.”

And so she did.
--------------------------
There you go, enjoy (hopefully you did??). Reviews make my day... ;)

writing:sample, linebyline, prose

Previous post Next post
Up