pearls and a pencil

The plate had finally reached me. There was one left. I grabbed for it. I popped open the fortune cookie, which read: Travel and romance go together now. After reading it aloud, I tucked it away with the other five golden fortunes I hope will turn out to be fate.
* * *
I put my pearls back in, brushed my teeth, wiped the mascara from under my eyes and stepped back to evaluate. Taking a pencil from the drawer, I spiraled my hair upward, using the pencil to fasten it in place. Pearls and a pencil. Classy-casual. Red coat over blue button-up shirt, I stepped out. Ready. Confident. I tucked a 1965 German dictionary under-arm. Making sure the pencil cleared my up-and-under, I ducked my head and slid myself into the car.
* * *
Wearing funky earrings, a sporty skirt and faux-sheered calf-length boots with laces, she's the epitome of fashion-cool. She's got a FREE TIBET shirt and classic black flats, and, somehow, deep down she could make them work in the same outfit. Her A-line bob polishes everything off. And, even though it looks as though she'd never be able to pull it back, leaving her with only one hairstyle option, she'll prove you wrong. Two ponytails or one, it works and it's absolutely darling. Throwing a scarf over her Sunday outfit, she's out the door, cool earrings bobbing as she hops along the front walk.

He loves her. She's a power tool to his soft and hidden self, drilling information into him, relentless in her attempt to stop him from revealing more about his life. She's made of concrete walls; tough to the touch. He is open pastures and green vistas; very don't-fence-me-in, if only she'd ask. He loves even the harsh sides of her in his sweet style of devotion. You can sense it in the way he looks at her when she talks; in the way he looks at her when anyone is talking. And yet, I still feel there is hope.
* * *
We're sitting on the couch looking up cars. High-end. European-made. We talk the ups and downs, the fasts and slows of A6's and 300 series. He lets me go off about streamlined trunk and tail light design. One hour later, we joined the rest of the crowd for cupcakes. I think I'm a little bit in love with him. The thought popped into my head as I sunk my teeth into a pink-frosted cupcake and smiled at him from across the room.

He loves her. And yet, I still feel there is hope. Not as in love-hope. Just hope. Hope after a few evenings at our table, a map at our fingertips, tracing European trails with our fingers. Why Florence? His eyes lit up as my mouth rounded and pronounced Duomo. It was one of those moments. One of those connections. He just understood. There was a pause. And then he traced both hands over Greece. If you're talking architecture, why not start here? I looked up at him, his darling eyes as blue as the Aegean. We can start anywhere you want to. I raised my eyebrows suggesting an up-for-anything attitude.
* * *
I parked the car on the downward slope, staring into the Salt Lake Valley. I secured the pencil in my hair and walked in, feeling good in my red coat. The house was filled with family; sisters with dark hair and eyes, and flawless olive skin; a mother happy to hug upon meeting. He was in the dining room, a map directly behind him. He traced the border of Germany and the Netherlands as I've seen him do a dozen times, showing an aunt and uncle where he'll make his new home. This time, however, it was final. He looked up with wide eyes. I handed him the dictionary and explained I had pulled it from my Dad's collection from his German Lit. college days. He wowed at the sight of it, grateful for the sentiment. He immediately scooted the ribbon off to look inside. The note read, See you there. And I signed my name.

He loves her. I think he always will. And yet, I've found new life in this new person; this connection; this charming too-good-to-be-true guy who will board a plane in 48 hours. As guests shuffled out, he watched as I folded up his pocket-size Eurorail map and tucked it inside the dictionary. I'll put it in my back pocket, he said, smiling. I looked up at him and smiled back, well-aware of the book's anything-but-convenient size. We lingered at the door for quite awhile. Each scuffing our feet on the slate, eyes down. Then I finally spoke up. Well...I wasn't sure what to follow it up with. See you there, he said, nodding, like that's what I should be thinking, too. He gave me a hug, opened the door and watched as I walked down the steps. I turned around at the sound of his voice. Hey. Thanks for coming. He paused. Thanks...a lot. I gave a shy, sure and turned towards my car. I pulled the pencil from my hair and drove slowly down the road, hand rotating my pearl earring with my fingers.