A Tiny Bit Mortal (4 page)

Closing my eyes, I could feel my heart beating under my hand that rested over the locket on my chest.  His words, “I can hear your heart beating,” played in my mind.  I felt a rush, like I had just consumed a whole pot of coffee, and my heart raced.

George hopped up next to me, with a loud
thwump
and a “prrrbt mrow” as he landed.  His landing startled me back into reality.  Letting go of the locket, I put my arm over him and reached under his ear to scratch.  He leaned into me and purred loudly.

After George fell asleep, stretched out across the lounge chair like a long ferret, I knew it was time to go to work.  I drifted down the stairs, into my car, across town, and through my day.  It felt like a tiny flicker, and then I was back in my entryway, locking the same door as I’d unlocked on my way out.

Wandering into my room, I reached up to touch the locket.  The novelty that it was still there, solid, had not worn off.  Crouching down at the end of my bed, I sat in front of my big old trunk.  Lifting the lid, I remembered having it in my room since I was a little girl.  It looked like something from a pirate ship.  It was the one thing I had that was my Dad’s though none of its contents were his.

Pulling out blankets and sheets, I tossed them around me.  On the bottom was an unorganized pile of my childhood treasures.  There were pictures cut out of magazines, a silver barrette, and a broken string of artificial pearls.  I gently lifted my treasures and pulled out the large scrapbook from underneath.

It had a brown leather cover, with an intricate “E” in calligraphy, for Emily.  My mother made it for me when I was born - not your typical pink baby book.

The first page was a picture of me, one day old.  I was so tiny and soft looking, with a little tuft of my future wild hair.  It was much lighter when I was little, almost blond.

Next to the picture was a copy of my birth certificate, written in pretty cursive.  I was born on September 19th, 1980.  Emily Augustine Williams.  My mother was Ellen J. Williams.  I traced my fingers over my father’s name. 

Nicholas York was his name.  My parents were never married, and my mother gave me her last name.  He had died well before I was born. 

Flipping through the pages, they were all of me and my mother, or my childhood home.  Not one picture was of my dad.  Of course I knew there wouldn’t be, but I inspected every detail of every picture, hoping for even a tiny clue of where I came from.

Closing the book, I sat it on the floor next to me.  Easing myself down, I rested on my back in the middle of the mess of blankets and sheets.  I closed my eyes. 

Picturing the face of the man in the jewelry store, I wished I had asked him his name.  I replayed over and over every second of the few minutes with him.  Every move and every touch replayed until I drifted off to sleep and woke up at dawn.  I dragged my feet into the living room and turned on Dido’s Lament from the opera by Henry Purcell. 

Twisting the long stick to open the blinds, I looked out the window down at the street, and then toward the view of the mountains.  I stood there, with my hands at my sides, watching the sky change from dusty blue to a sherbet orange with the sun rising.

There was something going on with my heart, making my breath uneven and quick.  I kept trying to talk myself out of it, but my talking side seemed to be losing.  I wanted to see him again.  I had to. 

Peter

I had to go in to work
and there wasn’t enough time left in my morning to try to make it to the jewelry store.  Painfully distracted, I went through the motions and barely managed to get the minimum of work done.  I had to collaborate with Rick for about an hour, in which he asked me several times “Are you okay, Emily?”  I mustered up my best “Of course” each time.

Feeling the fabric of my dusty blue chaise lounge with my hands at my sides, I realized that I barely remembered leaving work, the drive home, or getting into my apartment.  Looking over, I saw George curled up, sleeping, on the white throw blanket that had fallen off the back of the chair and onto the seat.  As I watched his plump furry middle rise and fall, I wondered when I could go back to the jewelry shop.  The man had been worried about how
they
would find me, and I wasn’t sure who
they
were, or when they’d be there.

Deciding to go for walk, I made my way toward the shop.  The sky was growing dark with the evening, and many of the shops were closing up as the restaurants bustled with the dinner crowd.  I approached the window of the jewelry shop that faced the sidewalk. 

Not wanting to stand in front of the window and stare, I casually leaned on the wall next to the window, and looked sideways into the shop.  There were a few blurry, out of focus figures inside, in addition to my new friend that I could see clearly.  They moved about, peering into the jewelry cases.

Long and wavy, shiny, golden blond locks caught my attention.  I saw a glimpse of soft ivory skin, rosy lips, and then blue eyes that looked straight up at me.  Jolting sideways, I rushed back towards my apartment without looking back while my heartbeat  pounded in my ears.

With a smile, I drifted into my apartment.  I had found something, finally.  Either proof I was going insane, or proof to myself I had found more to the world.  It didn’t matter to me which one was true.  I felt satisfied.

Sitting up in my bed at 4:30am, I was unable and unwilling to fall back to sleep. Ripping off my blanket and throwing it to the side, I felt ecstatic and nervous all at the same time.

After a shower, I tamed my hair, and dressed in my nicest black skirt, with my nicest black shirt, gray tights and my shiniest black Mary Jane shoes. Wrapping myself in my coat, I stepped in front of my hall mirror.  I stood and looked at myself, intently.  I looked right into my own eyes, and it felt
familiar
. 

With the same overwhelming rush that I felt with the man in the jewelry store, there I was, completely in focus.  I saw myself, wholly, for the first time.  Everything about me seemed soft, and gentle.  My green eyes were so expressive under my feminine smooth brow - my full red lips on the verge of a sweet smile over my round little chin.

My hair wasn’t just “wild,” but wavy, a shiny light brown that set off the softness of my ivory skin.  It flowed in waves over my chest and ended mid-waist.  I held the picture of myself in my mind.  There I was.  I finally held it.  I treasured it.

Locking the front door behind me, I slowly descended the stair well.  Walking toward the jewelry shop, I tried to calm myself down the whole way.  I was riddled with adrenaline, my palms clammy, my body feeling rubbery, and my heart beating wildly.

Throwing open the door, I entered the hall, and then opened the door to the shop with my sweaty hands.  My storm immediately calmed when I saw his face.  He was smiling, wearing a sharp outfit of khaki pants, a white button up shirt and a dark blue tie. 

He darted towards me faster than I could comprehend.  He wrapped his arms around me.  If it were the time before, I would have been stunned, but after so many hours of him running through my mind the day before, nothing felt more natural.

Learning into his embrace, I felt small in his arms.  We stayed there for some time, never for a moment becoming awkward.  He pulled himself away from me and put his hands on my face.  He was just tall enough that I had to tilt up my chin to meet his eyes.  I stared into his dark brown eyes and reached up to touch his brown curly hair with my finger tips. 

“Do you see me,” he said.  “or do you see my beauty?”

“I see you.” I said, wondering what kind of question that was.

He smiled.  “Will you come sit with me in my office?” He asked.  “Can we talk?”

“I’d love that.” I said.

He led me through a door by my hand, to a small room with a desk in one corner and a dark brown couch with a coffee table in front on the other side.  We sat on the couch, facing each other.

“What is your name?” he said, speaking through his smile.

“Emily.” I said, smiling back.

“My name is Peter, Emily.” he said.

We sat there grinning for some time, seeing each others shared emotion in our eyes.  Peter finally broke the silence.

“I can tell you aren’t one of them.” Peter said.  “Everything about you is genuine, I can feel it.”

“What do you mean by one of them?” I asked.

“The Corrupt, don’t you know?” he asked.

“I don’t.” I said, breathlessly and confused.

“You have a mortal heart, yet you walked right past all the forces of nature that should have repulsed you and repelled you from this place.” he said.  “At the very least you are half of one of us.”

“I don’t understand.” I said.

“Never mind that.” he said.  “There probably isn’t much time.  I don’t know what they’ll do when they find out about you.”

His eyes grew wistful, and his smile more serious.

“I want to
know
you.” he said.

He asked me about my life, and I told him the tale of my sweet cat George, my office, my superstitious Mom.  He seemed intrigued at my Mom’s superstition, and my Dad’s untimely death.  He laughed at my cat’s antics and looked sad when I described how I lived alone with no relations nearby.

He looked thoughtful for a minute and then asked “What did your Mom tell you about your dad?”

“Not much.” I said.  “I’d always assumed it was a painful subject for her.”

“Your Dad is
somewhere
.” he said.  “He is one of us.  You are one of us.”

“But I am mortal.” I said.

“A little bit.” he said.

“A little?” I said.  “How do you mean?”

“Most children of immortals are born and live a life like any other human.” he said. “But some, in the past have lived hundreds of years, and never grew old, though they could, and usually were, killed eventually by mortal wounds.”

My mind raced at the possibility of living for hundreds of years.  It wasn’t something I’d ever considered.

“I believe you are only a tiny bit mortal...” he said.  “You walked right into this shop like an immortal.”

I was stunned.  I didn’t know what to say.

He then began telling me about his life, and I was floored.  “When I was born, I can remember my first days.” he said.  “My mom looked at me, cooed, and told me I was and will always be.” 

“I learned to speak, and read, and learn at my father and mother’s knee before I could even crawl.  When I began to walk, they took me out of our little home and past our gardens for the first time.”

“They showed me two worlds, one was mortal, cyclical, with rises and falls.  They told me our world was without cycles.  That we were here as stewards, and how we remained unseen from the mortal world despite being in the middle of it.  The mortals were wired not to see us, they said.”

He slowly stroked his warm fingers across my hand.  His eyes became sad, and his brow apologetic.  He looked across the room at nothing.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling his sadness along with him but not knowing why.  I placed my hand over his.

“A dilemma, inside me.” he said.  We sat there quietly for a few minutes.  I was patient, concerned.

“I am not supposed to talk to mortals.” he said.  “They say I’m too young.  I know I’ve told you too much and I feel torn, a little guilty.”

“You are…” He paused.

He looked me over, and back into my questioning eyes.

“I’ve met other women near my age, immortal like myself.” he said.  “They come into this shop sometimes. Not one of them, not a single one, is like
you
.”

He looked into my eyes for some time, like he was searching for something.  “It feels natural to be around you.” he said.  “I feel like I want to share everything with you though I only just met you.”

“I feel the same way.” I said breathlessly.

His sadness transformed to a smile.  I returned it.  Suddenly his lips were on mine, and his hand gently on the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair.

We were both startled by a
thump
in the shop.  “Inventory!” Shouted a voice in the other room.

Peter looked a little panicked.  He lifted his in finger to his lips, gave me a serious look, and darted into the shop with the door closing behind him.

I could faintly hear their voices in the other room. 

“Do you want help unloading any of this?” said the other man.

“No, no, I’ve got it.” said Peter.  “I know you need to catch your flight this afternoon.”

“Are you okay, Peter?” said the other man.  “You seem a little... off.”

“I’m just fine.” said Peter.

“Well, okay.” said the other man.  “You take care. I will be back on Saturday morning.  Call if you need anything.”

Suddenly Peter was back through the door and dropped himself onto the couch next to me, rocking it slightly.  Whatever Peter was, it wasn’t graceful.  I smiled, enjoying that I had learned another thing about him.

“Phew.” said Peter.

“Are you hiding me?” I asked.

“Well, yes.” said Peter.  “That was my mentor, my teacher.”

“And you don’t want him to know about me?” I asked.

“I don’t know what would happen to you.” he said, with concern in his voice.  “They might think it best to take you somewhere, away.”

I felt a surge of fear when he said “away.”  He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.  “They would never hurt you Emily.” he said.  “We are The Pure, not The Corrupt.  They would only ever want to keep you safe, and to do what’s right.”

“I don’t know what you mean by The Pure or the Corrupt.” I said.  My mind raced with thoughts of his kiss, and complete confusion about everything else.

“In a nutshell,” he said. “There have always been immortals on this earth.  Some have served themselves, and others have served the divine.  Those two groups have grown distinct, and separate.  I belong to The Pure, and we serve the divine.”

He was silent again and appeared thoughtful.  It seemed to be a habit of his.  I wasn’t used to that pace of conversation, but I was beginning to like it.

“I just don’t want to lose you.” he said. “I’ve only just met you.”  He kissed me again.  I was lost in it, with my fingers running across his arms.  I had to go, it was time for him to open his shop and I would have been late for work if I didn’t go.  I asked if I could see him after work.

A smile erupted across his face, almost mischievous.  “Usually I’m studying in the evenings under careful watch with my mentor,” he said. “but he’s going out of town for the week.”

“Ha.” I said.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” He asked, with a big grin.

“I’d love that.” I said enthusiastically.  I walked out of the door with a smile, looking back at him as he held the door open for me. 

I went to work beaming and full of energy.  I could hardly sit still in my chair, tapping my foot and rolling in across the room in my office chair like a little girl at play.  Rick kept looking up from his work with a face that looked both concerned and afraid.

After work I went home and fed George.  I stroked his back as he ate his food, and he purred energetically.  He was finally done being mad at me for leaving him alone while I went to visit my mom.

Locking the deadbolt behind me with my keys, I descended the stairwell to the sidewalk.  There he was, exactly at the time he’d said he’d meet me.  He stood there, hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, with his white button up shirt neatly tucked in at his waist.  He wore a brown leather belt, and his tie from earlier had been removed.  The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. 

He was intensely handsome, I’d give him that.  It wasn’t what drew me to him though.  His disposition, his big brown eyes, and
him
was what delighted me.

He turned and put his left elbow out at his side, looked back at me and smiled.  Stepping forward, I linked my arm through his.

It was frigid and cold outside, but he was remarkably warm.  I had to stop and remove my wool coat.  He reached for it, I handed it to him, and he carried it with his right arm.  I linked my arm back through his and we carried on toward the restaurant.

“A private table, please?” said Peter, as we stood inside the entrance.