Northern_Lights_2014

Once in the car, her mother started asking her many questions. Her daughter apologized to her and told everything that happened. About the cookie, the coffee, the dancing and watching snowflakes fall and kiss them, and how she told him her love of the ocean. After the story was done, her mother didn’t know what to say. But, she did ask about her mittens. The girl looked out through the back seat window and smiled, “I gave them to him. I know he’ll give them back. Maybe he’ll give them back when I see him tomorrow.” But when tomorrow came, he never showed up. Not even the next day, or the day after that. Not even for the next few weeks. Or even the next few months. But every day, she hoped to see him again. As each day progressed, her pipe dreams were slowly diminishing. Soon, she had forgotten that day. Her mother gave her a new pair of red gloves. She didn’t like them, but had no choice of the matter. They stopped going to the Down-Home Den. The girl was busy with school and began to take acting classes. She always stared out at the ocean whenever she was feeling overwhelmed or lonely. It always led up to her trying to remember the past. Out of all the memories that she had grasped, she could never remem- ber that day. No matter how hard she tried. Ten years later, Opal Street, 5 th Avenue hadn’t changed very much. All the buildings colors were fad- ing. It was never slow. Except on some winter mornings, when it was just beginning to snow. The girl from before had landed a job as a Barista at the Down-Home Den. She remembered this was where her mother was so obsessed with the amounts of sugar and crème in her coffee. Also, how she was so tired of listening to her and her mother’s dull conversations. She wore a green apron as the others who worked before her did, and her long blonde hair was in a fishtail braid. She began to wear makeup now, hopefully making more tips for her college tuition. She was saving up for her dream. Her dream to go study abroad in England for acting, and to cross the Atlantic Ocean. But today was slow. She twirled her pen and scratched her head. She then decided to clean the smudged windows, knowing that they would only get dirty again throughout the day. She grabbed the bottle, the rag and began to clean the upper window. She concentrated on the insignificant speck and rubbed hard, until she noticed a figure across the street. She squinted hard. Feeling familiar about the moment, she ignored it and continued to clean. It hit her. She gasped and dropped the rag and bottle. The bottle’s top unsnapped and the liquid chemicals poured out across the tiled floor. She darted, pushing the door open with both hands. The bell jingled. The door closed. She stood out- side in the cold, tears beginning to form in her eyes. The figure across the street was hunched over. His sleek, black hair was neatly kept, combing over to his side. He wore a black suit, covered by his twill coat and had a nice pair of dress shoes that were also black to match altogether. She didn’t recognize him at first. But she was able to now. Being held in his hands was a pair of old, 20