When I'd first told Pel about my intention to take her on a date, I'd promised her that dinner would be on me. At the time, I'd said it as a point of pride. I wasn't in the best of financial straits, but for her, it was worth it, and my feelings and resolve only grew that much more intense once I learned about her family. I had to prove that I was worthy of her. I didn't just have to prove it to her family; I had to prove it to myself. Pel was the art student who'd been kind enough to strike up a chat with me, the quiet, fussy, pathologically fake-optimistic curly haired medical hopeful who studied all on his own by the grass on a bench in a park with a view of the sea.

At first, it had been little more than her clique's fascination with the facts of the mind. They'd come to the park to do sketching and watercolors, and to critique one another's work. Bit by bit, I became one of their group's regulars, even though my drawing skills were a crime against human dignity. It was the first time I'd ever really opened up to others; the first time since Dana had passed, anyhow. Pel had helped me find myself when I'd thought I'd lost that self for good. She was the one who helped me rediscover the lovely brightness of the sunshine one could find in other peoples' smiles.

I needed to prove to myself that I was worthy of her, because I didn't want to live in a world where she'd give her all for me, only for me to fall short and let her down.

Love makes you want to rise to the occasion, so that you don't fall from grace.

However, as we sat beside one another on the swiveling stools by the chrome-sided counter, I couldn't help feeling that I had fallen. Heck, who was I kidding. I hadn't fallen; I'd plummeted, head over heels—and into a hamburger joint, no less.

A good hamburger joint was a waypoint for the weary on the dark night of the soul, and Marty's Mucks was up there with the best of them. The jukebox was rockin', the lights were blinding, the cheese was fully hydrogenated, and the cholesterol was through the roof, just as the Angel intended.

Compared to the Marty's, the neons and warm golds of the Old Theater District at our backs might as well have been a den of shadows. Stepping into the Marty's was like setting your senses on fire and thoroughly greasing up the underside of your pants. When I looked at Pelbrum, dressed up like a diva ready to sing, I couldn't help but worry that the snarls coming from the milkshake blenders might shatter her to pieces.

We surveyed the menu. There was no way you could miss it. The countertop was covered in menus, copy after copy, secured beneath a solid sheet of see-through plastic.

"So, what's the house's recommendation?" she asked me, with a coy smile.

It was hard to appreciate that smile, on account of me strongly wanting to drop dead right then and there.

"Do you like mayonnaise?" I said.

I was a total failure.

Pel shook her head. "No, not really."

I sighed. I tried to smile, but ended up fighting back tears. "You know… I don't think anyone actually likes mayonnaise. We just put up with it. Why? I have no clue."

"I'll just have whatever you're having."

I looked her in the eyes and nodded. "Right."

I turned to Joe. "Rotten garden, charred, no white, fingers—for two, please." It was my usual, now doubled.

"Juice?" he asked.

I glanced at Pel. "Are you allergic to lemons?"

"No."

I turned back to Joe. "Yeah. Two juice." I paused. "You know, what the fudge," I muttered, "we'll split a vanilla fudge."

Nodding, Joe turned around and barked my order through the service window at the patty-flipper in the kitchen. I didn't recognize him, so he must have been new.

Joe had been at this Marty's since I was a kid. Other than a slight paling of the prickles on his flabby cheeks and a couple extra wrinkles, the restaurant's hill of an owner seemed as ageless as the preservatives and the grease. Like everyone else on the restaurant's crew, he wore an aproned paint-white uniform, topped in one of those paper-boat shaped sailor's caps.

Pel tapped me on the shoulder. She leaned in close and whispered in my ear. "Gen, I think they're watching us."

Swiveling around on my stool, I turned to face the problem.

Three greasy odd-fellows sat in the booth directly across the aisle from our spot up at the counter. They all had to be twice my age. In nearly every respect, they were dead ringers for that stereotype of a bunch of guys sitting in a burger joint talking loudly about who-knows-what. The only divergence was the way they played against type. There wasn't a whiff of boisterousness about them. Heck, they'd barely said anything above a mumble since Pel and I had walked in. Instead, they'd spent the past ten minutes just watching us in jowled amusement. Bits of condiments and meat-juice dripped onto their trays on the table as they held their burgers in their hands, their mouths frozen open mid-bite.

Considering the kind of people I imagined they usually saw, Pel and I must have looked like something out of Invaders From the Underworld by comparison.

I gazed back at Pel. Her jeweled earrings sparkled beneath the restaurant's fluorescent ceiling lights.

"There's nothing to worry about," I said. "We just look out of place, that's all."

But Pel's concerns weren't so easily silenced. She gave herself a fraught look-over: her satin dress, all studded with gems; the low-heeled shoes as gray as the morning sky; the fur coat clinging loosely to her sides, as if it was about to sprout legs and slip away. Her beauty was a torch against my despair. The sight of it was mirrored in the metal casing of the nearby napkin dispenser, covered in rust and dabs of dried ketchup that no one had bothered to clean off.

Both of us stared at the reflection.

"I guess… I feel out of place, myself," she said. She gave me a sad smile. "I've never been in a place like this before."

Clenching jaw and fist, I glanced downward, shaking my head so slightly, it must have looked like my skull was vibrating atop my neck. My tuxedo pressed down tautly on my shoulders.

"I tried, Pel," I said. "But it's all fallen apart."

In the kitchen, there was a yelp and a burst of fire that belched out the smell of cooked meat. Fat and oils popped like raindrops on the grill.

"Do they have an angry dragon in there, or something?" I quipped.

Pel grabbed my hand, and locked eyes with me. Her gaze was deep with sympathy. "Genneth, it's not your fault."

I scoffed, pulling my hand away. "If it looks like it's my fault, sounds like it's my fault, and smells like it's my fault… it's probably my fault." I rapped my knuckles on the countertop and sighed. "It certainly feels that way."

At that moment, I half-expected Pel to quote scripture on me, but she didn't.

For a second time, she put her hand on mine.

"Sometimes, things aren't what you want them to be," she said. "All we can do is make the best of it. After all, we're only human."

"Incoming," Joe said.

Just as I opened my mouth to give my reply, Joe came over with plastic trays in his hands and a new stain on his apron—probably milkshake.

I motioned to Pel to lean back and did the same. I slid her purse off the counter-top and into her lap as swiftly and discreetly as I could.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

There wasn't room for purses when our meal trays took up all the space on the counter, and then some. Two glasses of iced lemonade followed right after, along with Joe's trademarked sigh of defeat.

"I don't think I've ever heard you sigh that loudly," I said.

"The cult is growing," Joe replied. He smiled and shook his head.

Pel stared at me, her eyes demanding an explanation.

"It's sacrilege, I tell you," he said, with a wave of a finger. "Sacrilege."

She laughed. "Tell me about it."

He stabbed his finger at me, and then at our meals. "The things this guy wants on his burger. Mushrooms, spinach, dried berries—herbal pesto! And all of it was warm." Joe clicked his tongue. "It ain't right; it's… unorthodox. It's a rotten garden. It's been that way for years. And his old man never so much as lifted a finger in protest."

"And what, dare I ask, is orthodox?" Pel said.

Joe touched his thumbs and forefingers, just-so. "Toppings gotta be cold. Cool and crisp, like sleet."

She nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Joe nodded, too. "You better," he said, before stepping away.

Meanwhile, I'd already begun to dig in. As always, I used both hands. Pel, however, seemed apprehensive.

"It's… much larger than I'd thought it would be."

I nodded. "Joe is a snake," I said, my mouth still half-full.

"What?" Pel furrowed her brow, perplexed. "No." She stared at the man, watching him go about his rounds. "He seemed perfectly charming," she added, "though maybe a little rough around the edges. Wide edges."

I slurped the sweetly tart concoction otherwise known as Joe's Marty's lemonade. The tang stung my gums a little—but that was part of the appeal.

"No, not like that," I said. I tapped my jaw. "Snakes can actually unhinge their jaws. And if they wanted any chance of swallowing these burgers, they'd absolutely have to." I leaned in close. "All these years, and I've never seen Joe eat a burger. I bet you, he unhinges his jaw when he does. It's the only thing that makes sense."

I smirked.

She stared at the burger in her hands. "You might be onto something there."

I noticed her hesitation.

"How do you eat this?"

"You just stuff it in your face, and hope for the best," I added.

"Goodbye, lipstick," Pel said, with a sigh.

Then she took her first bite. The noises began a couple of bites later. I happened to know enough about talking with one's mouth full to recognize them as being the good kind of noises.

Little gobs of fluid and pesto were scattering across her dress. I reached for the dispenser, adding another layer of food goo to the metal casing as I pulled out some napkins.

As always, Pel impressed me with her versatile adaptability. She'd had no trouble taking my burger-eating advice. In fact, she took great pleasure—chewing eagerly—watching me dab the napkin at the stains like I was her little servant-boy. All of a sudden, something about the way I was doing it made her laugh, which soon turned to coughing, and then to a surprised sort of yelp as she gulped down some lemonade.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

She smiled. "I have no idea. I've never been assaulted by food that wasn't made by my mother." She wiped her face and hands with a napkin. "Honestly, I think I liked it." She let out the purest laugh, and then started munching on some fries.

We both made quick work of our meals. The capstone of what remained of this ruined evening came out not long after that: a tall, faceted glass of chocolate milkshake—thick and creamy, and perfect for sharing. Predictably, what began as a cooperative effort ended in a battle of spoon against spoon against tinkling glass. Our clash was a fierce one, but in the end, I think we both came out victors.

Pel turned to me. "All things considered, Genneth, I have to say: of all the ruined nights I've had, this is probably one of the best."

"I mean, just consider this lemonade. It has such a kick to it. And it's non-alcoholic, you're sure?"

I nodded. "The kick comes from the seltzer water. That, and the blocks upon blocks of sugar."

Shaking her head, Pel took a final sip from her lemonade. She grimaced as it went down. "Correction: it's not a 'probably' at all. This night is definitely certainly the best ruined evening I've ever had. In fact, this conclusion is so decisive, I think you'll have to add it to your list."

"My list?"

She smiled. "Even if you think tonight looks and sounds and smells and feels like it's your fault, let me tell you, it doesn't taste like it's your fault. Not. One. Bit."

At that, I sighed. It was an act of release, and one bigger than I had intended. My body went slack and leaned back. If Pel hadn't caught me, I would have fallen off my stool and hit the floor, back-first.

I cleared my throat. My shoulders shivered.

"I…"

A gob of something got caught in the back of my throat.

Probably some lingering traces of the lemonade.

"Pel… all I wanted was to give you the night you deserved."

"Who said you ever had to do that?" She touched my cheek. "All my life, I've gotten only the best of everything. Even if you don't lift a finger, I'll probably still get everything I 'deserve'."

She made air quotes with her fingers around that last word.

"I noticed," I said. "But…" I cleared my throat again, "…that's not what I meant." I took a deep breath. "When I was in my car, waiting outside your… building—"

"—My father's building—"

"—Whoever's building it is," I said, with a flustered smile, "it… it was like I was dead, and waiting to be born. It's not the first time I've felt that way, but it's been a long, long time since I last felt it."

I looked her dead in the eyes.

"Not since you came into the picture," I added. "And that's what I meant. What you deserve, in my eyes—it isn't because of your station or your pedigree or the mountains of cash your parents sleep on every night. This whole messed up date night was part of my attempt to repay you for what you've done for me; for what you've given me."

"Repay—"

"—No, not a word," I said. "I won't be deterred. I'm in your debt, Pel. And I think I always will be. What was it you said, on that day in the park, with the sunshine? 'A stranger is a sunflower, waiting to be opened by the light of something wonderful'. Well… I'm your sunflower, Pel. You opened me. You helped me remember that I had a bit of that light within me, and that when I shared stories with others, I could make it shine. That's why I feel so tangled up about tonight. All that hard work of mine, lost for want of a day."

I squeezed my hands into fists.

Pel's lips trembled—and in a good way.

"Pel, I promise you, no matter what happens, I'm not going to screw up like this—never again. Not if I can help it. I'll double—no, triple—check everything. I'll be so far on top of things that my back will scrape against the clouds. I'll—"

"—Who said you owed me anything, or that I expected you to pay me back?"

Pel leaned in close. In between heartbeats, I could sense what was happening. I'd dreamt of it for so long, now. But this wasn't quite what I'd expected.

Right then and there, in one of those magical moments when the world turns and something new rises up to see the Sun, I was struck by an idea. It hit me square in the heart and somewhere at the base of my brain.

Would it fix this disaster of an evening? Probably not. But it couldn't hurt it—and that's what mattered.

"Pel," I said.

Her eyes fluttered in surprise. "Y-yes?"

"Hold that thought." I got up from my seat.

"Thanks for the meal, Joe!" I said.

"Any time!" he said, yelling back.

"Are we going somewhere?" Pel asked me.

"The rest of this evening is in fate's hands," I said, "and it can do what it wants. Certainly, it's already been on a roll. But, make no mistake," I stomped my foot on the restaurant's vinyl floor, "I'm taking my girl to the Bealsthiller, rain or shine."

Together, we rushed out into the night, hollering from the chill of unexpected rain. The theater's otherworldly lights flickered and blurred on the other side of the falling water, The weighty doors swung open slowly. I pulled them open all the way. I charged ahead, Pel in hand, crossing the lobby to the short flight of steps and the auditorium doors beyond. One of them was ajar, breathing out a golden glow.

For once, it seemed, the old gal was expecting company.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

I looked back to the guy at the concession stand, but only for a moment.

"Living the dream," I told him.

And we went in. We slowly turned round as we walked down the aisle, like dandelions in the breeze.

This was it: the heart, the sanctum. The walls were flowers, painted mountains, and gold-leafed seas. Lifting our heads to the ceiling brought time's passage: daylight's eager blue skies faded into a crown of dusk as the ceiling spread to meet the curtained stage. Right at the precipice, it melted upward into a pool of dark—the limpid night.

"Isn't it magnificent?" I said. It was merely a whisper, but the sound was resonant; loud and clear.

"It's so empty," she said, entranced. "And yet…"

I smiled. "…it's not," I said—a hushed reply.

Pel nodded.

"Close your eyes," I said. "That's the way."

I crept up behind her and let my hands rest upon her shoulders. She shuffled back half a step, snuggling closer.

"They're still here," I said. "A place like this is a den of spirits. Whether it's a Chief Magistrate or a sore-armed dock-hand, everyone who's ever stepped inside these walls has left behind a piece of their essence. It's a place of memories. And if you just imagine, you can still see them."

Whisking around her, I stepped out in front. Holding her by the hand—gently—I led her forward.

"They're everywhere. The grumbling matriarchs, the landlords with coughs that never seem to go away; the children, wide-eyed with wonder as they see the divas and hear the music."

I moved up the steps onto the stage.

"Careful now," I whispered into her ears.

She giggled. "Genneth…"

"No, don't look," I said. "Not yet."

I held her in my arms. "Upsadaisy!" I lifted her up onto the stage. She yelped and laughed.

"The young lovers, out on the town in search of romance," I continued. "They're all here, simply because they were here."

I paused.

"Now," I said, "open your eyes."

And she saw it, she saw it all. She shined.

"Look." I pointed over the edge of the stage. "There are musicians in the orchestra pit. Can you see them?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I can."

"Now open your heart, Pel. Hear how they play."

I counted out the dance's rhythm.

"And a one, and a two, and a three…"

And then, I sang—well, hummed. I started out low and then grew louder. I crooned a waltz for her and me.

Taking a step, I offered her my hand, and sang words along with the lilting melody of one of Gallstrom's immortal waltzes.

"Would you… will you… a-waltz, with me? Oh please… it is… a dream of mine; to dance… with a… lay-dee in hand; to show… her what… she means to me."

Then she took her hand in mine, and we danced. We danced the night away, to a dream of music that once had been. We met the final cadence with a kiss.

It was a drop of guiding light, and it would endure. Time would parch the seas and grind the mountains low, but this moment would endure.

True light only grows more precious with age.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.