Chapter 1: Haven
I was already parked after having come into town on an insignificant errand. My helmet sheltered me from view and I preferred the anonymity. Through my rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar young woman approaching. Her demeanor was graceful but burdened. She saw nothing around her. There was something uneasy about her, like she was sad, disengaged, maybe even troubled. I was unexpectedly intrigued, which is a feeling that has evaded me for a long time. She was looking at the ground and for the briefest of moments looked my way and when she did I was stunned by the familiarity of her face.
I continued to follow her with my eyes. Without looking up she opened the door to the Chocolate Factory. I watched as the intriguing dark-haired girl scanned the items, almost as if she were thinking of something or someone else. I tilted my head and tried to read the face that I had seen before. Beneath her somber appearance there was a brief hint of a smile and then the same pained expression returned.
I silently wondered what misfortune could have imprinted its sorrow on her features. It was as if she were in mourning, which was unusual for so young a girl. I usually saw such furrowed brows and grief-stricken eyes on older people – the ones who have lost spouses or children even; typically the eyes of the young are lively, sometimes even shallow, as if all they see are themselves.
The young girl with her thoughts so far away had eyes that seemed beyond her years.
I watched as she picked out an item and reached inside her backpack. She kept searching, looking for money no doubt.
I couldn’t suppress the desire to approach her and felt this was a good excuse to do so. I reached for my wallet and pulled out a bill. The girl didn’t notice when the bells chimed and she didn’t notice when I came up behind her. She was still looking…and I was looking at her.
“Hi Haven.”
I heard the greeting and looked up briefly but barely noticed the girl behind the counter, nice though she was. I quickly recalled the slim, narrow face - a girl who lived here year-round. I returned her greeting and handed her a bill. “This should cover it.” As she began to fish for change I raised my hand and told her to keep it. She smiled and handed the bag to the girl standing in front of me, but my gaze had already returned to her silky mane of dark hair. The object of my curiosity turned and looked up at me. I wasn’t prepared for so close an encounter. The force of it was overpowering. I had seen her likeness before but long ago. She looked just like her, but it wasn’t her.
I couldn’t help but look intently, memorizing every detail. Her long black lashes framed questioning cat-like eyes that were as rich and dark as the chocolate candies in her hand. They flared momentarily, which took my breath away. Her cheekbones were high and prominent. Her small but full lips, which were moistened, reminded me of a doll. The girl before me was soft and anyone else might say she had a certain doll-like charm, but contrasting that kind of effortless beauty were the sharpness of her features.
Time seemed to stand still and we were speaking to each other without saying a word. Outside of our unspoken cocoon, bells chimed. She momentarily shifted, breaking the spell. The girl with no name opened her mouth and paused--as if she were about to engage me--then politely told me thank you in a voice so soft it sounded like a whisper. She left the store swiftly and I watched her go, my thoughts confounded and her exceptional scent swirling about me.
She was unfailingly, distinctively earthy – different, hard to decipher, even under the artificial dusting of her sweet lemon perfume. I had been aware that someone had come in after me and I stepped aside and walked to the window but the girl was already gone. I knew I could find her, but something kept me locked in place and lost in memory, recalling that face from years ago.
The girl was human, I was sure enough of that. Blood coursed through her veins like anyone else and I could sense the strong beat of her heart – a heart that beat slightly faster than most. I had smelled her faint perspiration and underneath it detected the lingering scent of soap. She was lovely in her own nimble way but astonishingly normal. Just as potent as her scent, was the scent of her grief. It floored me, but not nearly as much as the familiar force of her eyes. I had to know more, I had to know her.