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Boston, U.S.A. 2018
The stone is worn and almost impossible to read, a reminder of the hundreds of years that separate me from its inhabitant. I've searched a year for it in this lifetime. Just like the others, I had to see the proof that he was gone. I had to make sure that somehow a miracle hadn't happened, and I would stumble upon him somehow in this life. I had to make sure that I wouldn't turn and see him flashing me that heart-stopping grin as he pushed his wayward, russet-colored hair out of his face. He was always laughing about something, usually about some crazy idea I had told him about.
Sometimes, I've imagined that I've seen him. I've found myself running after strangers whose walk, or gestures, or profile reminds me of his. I'll tap the strangers on their shoulders. They turn around expectantly, flashing a smile when they see a pretty face. Their expressions inevitably turn to ones of concern as they uncomfortably ask if I'm alright since I've burst into tears at the sight of their face. It happens every time though. I just haven't been able to stop myself from looking for him.
It won't be a problem after today though. Just like it's not a problem with any of the others.
I trace the dates with the tips of my fingers. 1778. Just five years after I left. I wonder if he died in the war, if another woman watered the ground beneath me with her tears, mourning a life that would never be. That's what I would have done. That's what the tears streaming down my face are for. I'm mourning the death of my last chance for happiness.
Curious tourists pass by me hesitantly. I'm sure wondering how a centuries old gravestone could cause me to weep uncontrollably. Rotting cemeteries aren't supposed to inspire fresh pain. They would never guess that this loss feels just like yesterday to me. I wipe my eyes on my shirt, and press a kiss on my fingers that I then press on the stone.
"Goodbye Gabriel,"I whisper softly to the grave, knowing that there will be no closure for me even with the confirmation that he truly is gone.
I walk out of the cemetery, passing laughing families holding American flags, all enjoying a lovely, autumn Saturday. I walk and walk some more, the beauty of Boston invisible to me as I mourn so many lost lifetimes.
I finally stop when I get to the ocean. I close my eyes and soak in the feel of the breeze against my face. It reminds me of all of them, of everything that I have found, and everything that I have lost. The breeze stirs the strands of my hair, brushing them against my skin, almost like a lover's caress.
"No more," I whisper to the sea. It doesn't answer me back.
Now
"Orders up," calls out Val, shaking me out of my reverie.
I give a deep sigh and walk over to the counter to grab the food for my waiting customers. The air is thick with the stench of fried food and sweat. My shoes squeak on the black and white checkered floor as I make my way to one of my tables to deliver their food. Pretending to ignore the table full of truckers' wandering, leering eyes, I set their food down and force a smile at them, politely asking if they need anything else.
"Just your number, baby," says one of them. I involuntarily shiver, the man's got to be pushing sixty and he's missing a few teeth.
"Afraid I can't help you with that, sir," I tell him with a grimace. "Let me know if you need anything related to your meals though." I can feel their continued interest as I walk away, and I know that I'm going to be carrying my bear spray with me when I walk home tonight after my shift is over. You never can be too careful about creepers these days.
My mind automatically thinks of Landon, and how he would insist on picking me up every night if he was here. He would probably have me carrying a gun everywhere as well. I immediately feel a pang of loss, and I force myself to concentrate on folding napkins while I wait for the rest of my tables to finish.
"We've got a live one," says my co-worker Bethany.
I grunt uninterested, brushing my too-long black hair out of my face.
"You can have it," I tell her. "It's been a slow day."
"Ooh honey, consider this your birthday present for the next five years," she tells me with a wink.
She looks behind me again.
"Make that the next ten years," she says, giving me a little push in the direction of where the newcomer assumedly just sat down.
I sigh, but can't help but give her a returning grin. Bethany is the quintessential cougar. Mid-fifties, with the tendency to wear her eye makeup a little too dark, and her hair a little too big, she keeps me laughing on the daily. She's the only bright spot in this shitty diner I've found myself working at. It's a little hard to get a good job when you're never around a place long enough to get a degree. Not that a degree from the last place I was at would get me anywhere here. Well, maybe an insane asylum.
I can see the concerned look on the doctors' faces in my head right now.
"So, you're actually saying that you believe you've just returned from the 1700s." I have to stop myself from erupting in laughter at that thought. I sober up when I see Bethany's concerned look.
"Oh sweetie, when are you going to start living in the present?" she asks me sadly.
I can't help but tear up at her concerned tone. 'Never' is the answer, but I can't tell her that.
"I'm fine, just tired. You know I've been working a lot of shifts lately," I tell her reassuringly. I know she sees right through me, but she smiles at me anyway.
"Go make that fine piece of ass's dreams come true," she says, flouncing away in her cheap, leopard heels that are at least five inches tall. It's a wonder that she can stand on her feet all day with as much as we walk around in this job.
I'm still laughing as I turn and start walking to the new customers. My laugh dies in my throat when I lock eyes with one of the table's occupants.
