She was a kind soul.
She was small, petite. With huge brown eyes and even darker hair often mistaken for black she stood there, not quite five feet, in the midst of the cafeteria style restaurant. Her uniform was blue with the sweat of her heart, her slacks an ebony color, as were her slip-resistant shoes. And her clients loved her, loved the sight she made against the backdrop of the rustiness of the restaurant.
The way she smiled when she would glance at you, the crinkled corners of her eyes, and the sweet smile that would often play on the surface of her emotions. And yet at times she seemed to gather an expression of sorrow, and her complexion would take on a deep sadness, as if reminiscing the depths of some faraway past. But that image would disappear immediately, for she was not one to give into things so easily.
And it was on a certain morning in the month of September, as she moved around her tables, walking with a certain purpose, her hair gathered behind her in a thick braid, the outline of her eyes narrowing as she worked, that she turned. Slightly.
And caught a glimpse of a tall man making his way toward her, nearing her.
Her heart jumped immediately, and her breath left her as she froze. Her eyes widened, she watched as he made his way toward her, his expression a controlled one as his essence neared hers.
Unable to speak, she could only glance up at him, at the face she knew so well. The outline of his flawless face, the virile length of it framed by the thickness of his black hair. He was tall, yes, and his eyes were a gray so strong that they seemed to glow at times, taking in her small form. And the strength that he carried himself with, not just the physical strength often gazed at but the spiritual strength in which his presence demanded attention surrounded her, enveloped her and the space between them. His eyes were framed by thick lashes, and the attire of torn jeans and a simple white shirt only served to enhance his simplicity, his loveliness, even more to her.
He was alive.
Her small hands flew to her mouth, and she began to tremble all over. A few of the clients near her watched curiously, their exchange. They seemed interested, and in the distance the blue of the employees crowded as they too wondered at the scene that was unfolding before them. "You're alive," she whispered, the words flowing easily, softly. "You're alive. You're alive."
He nodded and opened his mouth, as if wanting to speak. But then he halted, and he opened his arms to her. Without a second thought she flew into them, nestled her smallness against the hardness of his body, her tender arms reaching up to embrace him, just him, gripping the whiteness of the shirt that stood broad against his back. Her vision blurred as her hot tears spilled easily, and she could only cry the same words, "You're alive. You're here. Angel, you're here...safe and sound."
He rocked her gently, slowly caressing her hair with his hands, his expression a pained on as he realized how time had separated them for so long. And she sobbed her heart out, her pain out, her body shaking over and over again as her emotions grew and stretched and broke within her, rearranging their delicate forms to grasp the essence of the man before her.
"Dead," she sobbed into his shirt. "I thought you were dead...in April, so many years ago. That year; I thought you were dead..."
He whispered her name quietly, and when her strength failed her, when her legs gave up and she bended he held her up easily, like a child, against him. And she went limp against him, her eyes closing as her mind, exhausted, drifted away. The tears on her face were obvious, and drying, her hair having come undone partway in the process. He easily scooped her up gently, against his chest, watching her sleeping face.
She had fainted at the shock of seeing him. And without a second thought he took what belonged to him, finally. He had come to claim her once more, past the boundaries of time.