A Walk with Josie

Josie had always known exactly where she stood when it came to love, or rather, the lack of love. She stood on a busy street corner, the bursts of yellow taxis whooshed by as she tried to get a glimpse of each fleeting face, her mind filled with thoughts of, “is it you?” and,“Are you the one I’m waiting for?”

Josie knew better than to linger, and so she moved on. Her boots crunched the icy snow below her feet and her nose was warm and wet beneath a crocheted scarf, itchy and vibrant with its homemade glow. The stores around her were all decorated in the expected red and green glimmers, variations of golden bows and jolly men painted on windows. It felt romantic to her, but of course everything felt romantic to Josie. It was the way the brands all banded together to share the same favorable message of giving in place of their usual messages of buying, and it made her desperately wish she had someone to buy and gently wrap a present for, one that she picked out with her very own hands, and wrapped with a big red bow on top. And he would have blue eyes, for obvious reasons.

But that was why she was out walking, bundled against a late afternoon winter, towards a destination she thought very well could be destiny. The similarity of these two words took her by a small surprise, and supposed that all our lives are filled with destiny, simply because we keep looking for destinations to traverse.

Sometimes, Josie’s thoughts become so interesting to her own mind, that she would ponder in a very distracted way. She knew this was the reason she, heretofore, had been unable to find any love at all. Josie was uninterested in pondering this particular thought for reasons akin to a stone that has been smoothed over with water.

From her jacket pocket, Josie pulled out a joint. With practiced fingers, she sparked a lighter and the tip glowed hot, the white paper crumbling to ashen gray. She liked the feeling of inhaling the smoke, the way it wrapped around her heart to remind her that it was, in fact, still there. It beat red and alive in her mind, and she took another breath.

The world seemed to slow, her own presence feeling solid. She had stopped walking, and the darkening sky became a backdrop of black behind her as she saw her reflection in the spacious window boxes of a nameless store, large, glossy ornaments hanging around mannequins, their outfits perfectly styled to the algorithm. The statues made a couple, their hands almost touching behind the glass, and for a moment the space between the plastic fingers captured Josie, a memory of standing beneath a painted ceiling, the work of a master in his peak, and she felt a familiar pull of longing as tangible as anything else.

Josie hated a cliche; a symptom of a true hopeless romantic who had secret dreams of an authentic love. But, in her dreams, the hands would touch, and then she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Feeling suddenly like a damsel, but perhaps the kind that really stood up for herself, she shook off her reflection and took another inhale and stubbed the rest out; she had places to be, a destiny to reach. She huffed out a breath - she was such a cliche.

Was that really such a bad thing? It wasn’t her fault, was it? She had opted for the opinion of books much more often than her peers, romantic or otherwise. The books just had better answers, that’s all. They were unafraid of a difficult conversation, where it seemed people were content to live with the lies they told themselves. She wasn’t so heartless that she would scold the friends she did have for this philosophy, for of course she would have a few. It was just harder for her to play along, and it left her feeling quite lonely.

That would all end tonight. A warmth of fortitude rose inside her, and she continued walking down the sidewalk. Tall lampposts rose high in the air, the curved welds of iron outlined by a string of warmly glowing lights, sparkling like stars. The golden cast of light felt like a forcefield against the cold, and she felt encouraged, her pace quickening.

She wasn’t so forlorn to believe she would never find love, just that she hadn’t found it, yet. In every story she had read, there was always a time the heroine had to make a different choice, a moment where enough was enough, and it was time to change. And almost immediately after, you would meet a man, and he would always have blue eyes.

There had been guys before, of course. They ranged from men who wore suits to boys whose intentions were unacknowledged, and malicious. Josie supposed they all were a bit like distractions, a way to play out the stories of her books in her real life, although the harder she seemed to try, the more vicious her real life seemed to become. It hadn’t been as bad as it had been, the past few years. Each year that passed felt like a victory, a twelve month trophy to put on her mental shelves. She was wise enough to see the progress, but bored enough to wish for the pleasure of a heartache over the weary emptiness of being alone.

It was why tonight, she was making a different choice.

It had started in the morning, when the sun had been shining more brightly than most winter skies normally allowed, when she decided enough was enough. Her arms were grooved with the lines of deep sleep and she felt peace as soft as clean cotton. Of course, like any moment, it was fleeting, but unlike the mornings before, it lingered like frost, and as the day went on, it had spread from a thought alone to the very tips of her uncovered fingers that she now tucked into her coat pockets, the joint discarded. Her destiny seemed to become clearer the more winding turns down unfamiliar roads she took. She stood and waited for a crosswalk sign to send her turning down a darker street, the buildings turning from skyscrapers that tunneled into the sky to small, flame-lit windows, striped awnings containing the soft glow that comes with the advent of the season.

The sight felt so steeped in romance that Josie’s heart plunged into her stomach, and she sat quickly down on a cold bench parallel to the cobblestone street, her back against a small and darkened park, two tall lampposts a goalpost around her. She took a deep breath, feeling all at one charmed and distressed by her lonesomeness that she found solace in focusing on the passing couples, their arms linked and hats pulled low, heads tucked together, sharing warmth of breath and words of love that Josie now imagined, inventing conversations of dinner and romantic evenings of plays and wine and slipping off of coats.

The illusory skits made her feel warm, and in the frosted air she felt limitless, and she thought of reaching her hand into the air, feeling a surreal surety she could touch the stars, and almost without thinking, her arms started to raise as a crow suddenly appeared next to her. Caught between its beak was a heavy key, bluish with patina. The large bird squaked and the key clattered loudly against the bench and then the ground, and without another sound, the crow flapped its blackberry wings and was gone as abruptly as it had appeared.

Josie looked down at the key, a wash of excitement cascading over her as she hurriedly bent down to pick it off the ground. Despite the cold, the ornate metal was warm and textured in her palms. It looked unreal in her hands, and even though she knew better, it seemed to emanate its own glow, feeling out of place with the time around her. Josie looked up, and where she was sure there wasn’t before, an unmarked wooden door with a thick handle was set into the bricks between the warmth of the bistros, unnoticed by everyone it seemed, except Josie.

The night became quiet for Josie, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. The key was growing warmer in her palm, and the door seemed to match its unearthly glow. Josie needed no further signs that she had found her destination. Her steps were sure as she walked up to the wooden door, the taste of possibility like peppermint on her tongue. She slid the metal key into the lock, and it turned with a heavy clang as the door opened.