You Were Once There - Chapter One

A nostalgic rendition of the piano piece Clair de Lune played over the speakers in the dimly lit room. The soft melody provided a soft ambiance that resembled the rush of wind through a forest or the slow lapping of waves upon a quiet lakeshore. Each note flowed with ease, carried along on the mumble of hushed conversation. Resting for a moment, the sound settled in idle silence before being caught with the exhale of spoken breath to the ears of the next patron. Combined with the underlying tones of conversation, the dry clinking of glass, and the occasional outburst of joyous laughter the piano piece took on an even greater, more personal composition.

The room, an adequately sized basement of a sprawling commercial building, held home a simple jazz bar. Round tables dotted the floor, topped with small lamps which provided a warm, comfortable glow to the otherwise dark room. Huddled closely together to catch the light, customers engage in quiet conversations. Snippets of the weather, business prospects, the latest car models, expectations for relationships and the like dominated the vast majority of these talks.

For a dark November evening, the mood of the bar was relatively bright, alive with a certain form of energy that contrasted that of late autumn. It was only about 8 PM, the streets already lit, train lines surging with constant activity, the early night traffic continuing its never-ending commotion. The bar slowly gaining life with every passing moment.

The bar itself was a higher-end venue of refined taste. Dark bricks formed the walls, providing an aged yet neat appearance. Framed black and white photographs, rough sketches and artworks, and even the occasional vinyl album occupied the space. Lamps veiled in red shades emitted a subdued crimson hue, providing the sole source of light besides the bulbs hanging directly over the bar counter itself. The patrons clad in designer pieces and subdued business wear enjoyed the relaxed, yet classy environment that supported their appearance. It was a place frequently visited by an array of businessmen and influential figures, models and actors, writers, musicians, and the few and far between poet.

The door at the front entrance opened, welcoming in a cascade of cold wind and the overbearing sounds of traffic from its elevated position upstairs. A slender leg appeared on the first step, then a thigh, followed by the full torso of a woman. She wore a dark brown turtleneck that hung close to her well-formed body. A thick sweater was draped across her shoulders, lightly swaying with every step. She almost seemed to glide down the staircase, not so much as a misstep or false movement was wasted. As she fully entered the room, a tense silence overcame the space. The energy was caught in a tense knot, held for a brief moment, then released as the bar returned to its natural state of organized commotion, the patrons re-engaging in conversation.

Gliding like some phantom or ghost, the woman crossed the floor in long strides. At last, under the watchful eye of a few envious customers, she reached her destination. In the back corner of the room, nested between the stage and the shelf of, very expensive-looking, alcohol, a man sat tapping his fingers along to the melody of the music. Noticing the woman before him, he quickly rose to his feet and offered a welcoming smile. She returned the gesture, providing a gentle smile along her vibrant crimson lips.

"I'm glad you could make it." The man ventured to speak first as he beckoned the woman into her seat across from him. As she did so, he caught an intoxicating air of perfume, a dark inviting smell of lavender. The scent consumed the man, giving his body an almost weightless feeling as he lowered into his chair. He felt if he did not secure himself he would float away, carried on the upwards on the fragrance of flowers.

The woman's cool voice brought him back down, "It's great to see you again Jean. I'm glad I could make it despite the weather." Once again, the inviting smile returned to her lips. Jean watched closely as they moved, revealing her perfect white teeth. He noticed the small lines that formed at the corners of her mouth, lightly quivering.

This was the third time Jean met with the woman, from the very first interaction he was immediately drawn to her. A certain tug of energy that he had not felt in quite some time, a haunting of emotions long lost or maybe, long avoided.

He had met her at the same bar, running into her by complete chance and luck.

Per usual, he was enjoying his nightly glass of whiskey, allowing himself to be warmed by the drink and carried away by the music and sounds of the bar. After finishing his second drink, always two no more no less, he glanced at his watch noticing it was nearing 11 PM. Hoping to not miss the last train, he grabbed his old coat from the back of his chair and made his way up the stone stairs toward the exit. As he reached for the metal handle, the door suddenly burst open. A woman flooded in, quickly shuffling the door behind her. She was completely drenched; water flowed down her face, sticking jet-black hair to her forehead. A small puddle formed around her red pumps. After a few moments of collecting herself and squeezing out the water from her hair, she finally noticed the stranger she had suddenly barged in on. "Oh my god, I am so sorry!" With wide eyes, she began to profusely apologize. Her dark eyes caught what little light there was in the narrow hallway, shining like a sea of stars on a black December night. "I was on my way out of the office, and it just started pouring. Guess I must've forgotten my umbrella at home."

A warm expression came upon Jean's face, "Trust me it's all okay. If I was out there getting soaked, I would've barged in on anyone." He gave a short laugh and reached into the breast pocket of his coat, producing a neatly folded handkerchief. Its clean, white brilliance shone like a beacon. "Here. Please take this." Jean offered the now unfolded cloth to the drenched woman. Eagerly taking it from him with a thankful smile, she dabbed at the waterdrops pouring down her face. Each movement was delicate and had an almost elegant form that flowed from each position to the next.

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how much I appreciate it." She returned the cloth to its folded state and offered it back to Jean. As he returned it to his coat pocket, he eyed a faint stain of red lipstick.

"My name is Midori. I work in an office just up the street; no more than a few steps away, but it seems it was just enough to get me soaked." She reached out a small hand. It was bare of any rings or bracelets, distinctive only by lilac-colored nails. Bearing her eyes into his, Jean took her hand. The skin was soft and smooth without any wrinkles or callouses.

"Glad to meet you Midori. I'm Jean." He had a habit of withholding what he did for a living, it never seemed relevant and he wasn't too fond of sharing it with others.

The green light of the exit sign above the door shone down on her face, bathing her in a faint glow. The light almost made her look like a ghost, a memory from the past coming back to haunt him. Even in the ghastly setting, she was still remarkably beautiful. Her striking dark eyes were the focal point of her face. All other features seemed to funnel attention towards them, subtly demanding recognition. Long black eyelashes fluttered like two small moths, casting shadows down her defined cheekbones. Her nose slanted like a freshly powdered ski slope. Settled beneath were two plump lips, colored red by carefully applied lipstick. Besides the lipstick and subtle mascara and eyeliner applied to her eyes, her face was bare of any other makeup. As pure and clean as a newly washed bed sheet, fluttering on the clothesline by the wind.

As he stood before the woman with water still soaking her clothes and hair, something inside of him felt almost off. His heart, which he realized he hadn't thought of in years, ached with a dull, buried pain. It was a pain buried so deep, it was almost bordered on nothingness. Only now was it unearthed in front of this woman; the stunning yet drenched woman. Almost as if in discovery of the hidden pain Jean's heart began to beat faster, pounding with every passing moment. He felt his body surge to life, the quick rush of blood bringing a jittery feeling to his limbs. A strange unfamiliar sensation overcame him; the room melted away, the sounds of the bar downstairs fading into a static roar, the colors of his surroundings growing gray and colorless. The epicenter of it all, the one shining light in the void, the woman named Midori.

He caught himself staring a moment too long, a burning blush of embarrassment rose to his hollow cheeks. Midori seemed not to notice, still displaying that sweet, perfect smile. Her gaze was equally unwavering; perhaps she too was experiencing something completely foreign and inviting Jean thought to himself.

The door next to them opened and a hopeful patron stepped through, shaking off his black umbrella. He looked at the two for a brief moment giving a quick smile and nod, then shuffled between them through the narrow hallway. Realizing that they had become an inconvenience for those hoping to enter and exit the bar, Midori spoke, "By chance, would you like to have a drink with me?". She lowered her eyes in a bashful way, the shadows cast from her eyelashes growing deeper and larger. "At least until the rain passes that is." Jean thought he caught the faintest touch of blush on her cheeks.

He glanced at his watch, a little past 11. If he were to stay he would no doubt miss the last train, but... Looking at Midori he felt stuck in place, unexplainably drawn to that moment with her. Missing the train wouldn't quite be the end of the world, he could always call a taxi. And, if worse comes to worse, he didn't mind a walk.

"You know, I think I could spare the time," his voice trailed off. "After all, I forgot my umbrella too." He smiled and a small look of joy spread across her face. In the deep black seas of her eyes, a small light surged with intensity. There was something inviting about those eyes, an open doorway inviting him inside. They were almost saying to him, "It's okay, don't be afraid of the dark. Just step right in." And so, he gave in.