2:37 AM

2:37 am. Still haven’t gotten a lick of sleep. Every time my eyes close the pressure headaches set in and the room feels like a spinning top. Flying long distances is always the worst part of any trip. I don’t mind so much the cramped quarters, can deal with the mild irritant of upset babies crying in the background, I can even put up with the slightly oversized gentlemen sitting next to me taking up way too much legroom; however, the nausea and pulsating buildup in my skull always seem to take me out of sorts and leave me feeling discombobulated for at least a day or two afterwards. I don’t know how much more of this I can handle. The tossing and turning is only making me feel more restless and aggravated. Sitting straight up, my eyes scan the room and take in the ambiance of my hotel room. The marble floors, walls with aged and cracking paint, and rustic furnishings all bearing the telltale signs of the humid climate. I decide I need some air to clear my head. Throwing off the sheets I toss on a hoodie and some sweats and meander my way through the long halls and down to the main foyer. Everything is ghastly quiet, even the concierge desk is seemingly deserted. I think I can faintly overhear a tv spewing out the re-runs of the days sports highlights, but it could just be the buzzing of the lights mixed with the delirium from the lack of sleep. 

Upon exiting the building I’m almost expecting a cold breeze to hit my face, but then I remember the climate here is much more moderate than that I am used to back home. Warmth embraces my exposed neck and head, and I almost regret the decision to don the sweater instead of a simple t-shirt, however the wind picks up slightly and takes the edge off the heat enough that I think I will manage alright. The street in front of me lies deserted as far as the eye can see. Stepping down off the grand entrance I hang a right and stroll along the cobbled road. Under the dim glow of the orange tinted streetlamps the shadows seem to dance around me, casting imposing figures off the striking architecture of the old city. A mixture of Gothic and Baroque, the pointed, sharp lines, harrowing pinnacles, and gaping arches paint a beautiful juxtaposition against a dark and muddled sky, where the clouds seem to waltz in and amongst the stars overhead. Taking a moment to bask in the brilliance of the night, I nearly lose my footing as a stray cat darts from a nearby alley and in between my legs, fast in pursuit of some unseen prey. I curse under my breath and catch myself at the last moment before looking up to catch a glimpse as to the whereabouts of this feline miscreant. As I encompass my surroundings, a flash of auburn catches the corner of my gaze. My eyes rush to lock on to the site as I see it quickly vanish around the bend of the next street. I swear it was a person, but I am unsure if my mind is simply playing tricks due to the tiredness weighing heavily upon me. I stand frozen in time for a moment, hesitant of whether to follow or just keep along my own way. After all, I am in a strange city where I can barely speak the language, it’s the middle of the night, and I am sure there are ruffians and vagabonds just hoping to stumble into some hapless tourist they can take advantage of. But alas, some deep seated energy is pushing me to follow, begging not to be ignored. 

Deciding against all better judgement and common sense, I cautiously step out in pursuit of what I hope to be a friendly stranger. My mind is screaming at me, cursing my stupidity and fool-heartedness, reminding me of every documentary and late night crime drama of people going missing due to mysterious circumstances, never to be heard from again. All I can wonder is if some of them had similar urges, drawn by some unforeseen energy, calling them to their demise- or perhaps to the start of some grand new adventure, where they forsake their past lives and delve into the unknown. The intrusive thoughts continue to build up their own narratives, gaining momentum and shifting with each passing moment. Suddenly the thought crosses my brain- What if the stranger I am following is just as scared of me as I am of all of these imaginary tales being woven amongst my neural pathways? What if they think I am a thief or a stalker, perhaps a murderer out for their undoing? My steps start to slow as I reconsider my hastened pursuit of the unknown. I glance down at my watch. 2:53. Damn, I definitely thought I had wasted more ti-

I stumble directly into an object that is at a dead halt in my path. Lost in my own thoughts and too busy staring at my watch, I had failed to notice that I had indeed caught up with the focus of my chase. I take a brief respite to take in exactly what, or who, I have stumbled into. There, standing in front of me is the most strikingly beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. Fiery copper-reddish hair encapsulates the face of an angel. Sharp, elegant cheekbones give way to soft freckled skin, a short rounded nose, and prominent sea green eyes flecked with gold like two underground pools storing some hidden treasure just below their surface. I am taken aback and my breath seems to have been stripped from my body. I flounder for words and attempt to eke out an apology. Her plump lips separate to reveal a perfect smile cast in a mischievous grin. She nods slightly and graciously accepts my hurried apology. With a heavy accent; but as smooth as silk and sweet as sugar, she asks why I am stumbling through the old streets alone in the middle of the night. She must think I am a drunk or some perv following her around like this. I hasten to come up with some sort of explanation but the longer my silence the more she begins to cock her head and look at me suspiciously. This really isn’t helping with the image, so I divulge the truth: my jetlag had me feeling sick so I came for a walk and for some strange reason felt compelled to follow the Auburn flash. She giggles when I utter the term and says she enjoys the new nickname, feels like a superheroine, wandering the streets, pursuing justice. I sigh in relief that I did not frighten her off with my babbling. To myself I feel like an incoherent mess standing in her presence. My heart has skipped several beats and I feel lightheaded- for the first time in over 24 hours I can attribute it to something other than the jetlag. I ask what journeys she is on in this, the witching hour. Again her laughter echoes off the surrounding townscape, “Why, witching things of course.” 

I ask if she minds if I accompany her for a while, promising not to be any trouble, “unless of course you’re into that sort of thing.” I feel myself winking at her and instantly feel a fool, but she slyly winks back and wraps her arm within mine, “suppose you’ll have to find out.” I sheepishly grin and tell her to lead the way as we begin to stroll through the narrow street together. Somehow her existence feels familiar, like that of the warmth that comes with being in the presence of someone you’ve known your whole life. For a few moments we walk in relative silence, basking in the night's subtle glow. As we approach a quiet pier at the end of the road, I am about to ask her the mundane line of questioning you would normally ask someone you had just met, such as about their family, where they are from and the like, but before the first sentence has even partway left my lips, she stops abruptly. Halted in my tracks like a deer caught in headlights, she turns to me and says, 

“I know we are strangers in, what is to you, a foreign land; however, allow me the opportunity to be somewhat bold and unabashed.” I nod, unsure of what is to come next, captivated by her allure and poise. I can’t help but notice the way the wind catches her hair and whisps it alongside her face, drawing me in once again to the lustre of her eyes. “Tonight feels a night of magic, one whereby most anything can happen. I would prefer to be swept up in its majesty and have it lead us where it may, rather than be pulled into the drab and dreary of the everyday mundane. On that note I have a proposal, that for tonight we remain strangers, aloof of the baggage and backstories and instead remain forever encapsulated in this moment in time, becoming whoever we wish to be, if only for this moment.” I once again find myself taken aback, staggered by the elegant poetry of her words.  I gaze at the water, slowly turning the idea over in my mind. 

“Shall I have a name to call you by at least?” She pauses, simmering in thought. After a time she glances up and replies, “you may call me Scarlett, so that when you look back on this instant, I hope you will remember it fondly, as one filled with courage and passion. And to how shall I address you, my debonair companion?” 

“I suppose to stay on the theme of red and passion, you may call me Rowan.” 

“Well Rowan, it is an honour to make your acquaintance. Come on, I have an idea.” 

Grasping my hand in hers, she hurriedly pulls me along until we reach a narrow alley almost completely masked by the darkness of the night. I feel my stomach tighten and my anxiety set in, unsure of what fate could possibly lie ahead. She gently leads me into the corridor and we wind our way through for several hundred feet before coming to a halt in front of an antique wooden door. She pulls out a heavy looking key and thrusts it into the lock before shoving the door slightly ajar and disappearing into the blackness inside. 

Stepping inside, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. A thin hallway stretches before me leading into stairs heading downwards in a spiral, the bottom of which appears basked in a pale blue glow. Scarlett is already rounding the first few steps so I hurry my pace and begin my descent. As I round the bottom of the stairwell my eyes are greeted by a magnificent scene. A small room with shelves of books stacked to the roof on either side of me are blanketed by the reflection of an immense arched window seated almost directly level with the ocean it stares upon. The sheer magnitude of the immense blue radiance shimmering upon me with every lap against the brick facade from the waves is awe striking. A small, well used fireplace sits in the corner, a nest of blankets strewn in a cozy heap before its charred hearth. Hastily scribbled notes are plastered on every free surface, with lists, lines of prose, or vague connotations towards things left undone scrawled across their faces.   

“What is this place?” the words slip from my mouth. 

“Well, to me it’s a lot of things, but I guess for now the most suitable would be home.” Reaching into a crevice between stacked books, she pulls out a small bottle of brandy and two delicately stacked glasses. She pours the amber liquid before thrusting one in my direction. 

“I’m actually not much of a drinker,” I manage to stutter. She cocks her head teasingly and replies, “oh, is Rowan?”

“Fair point.” I tilt my glass back and allow the fluid to burn down my throat. Gesturing my head in the direction of the window I ask, “does this open?” 

She nods. 

“Do you care to go for a swim?” I ask, “the water looks irresistible.” I can see hesitancy clouding her eyes, so I grab the bottle from her hand and quickly refill our cups. 

I swig mine back with enthusiasm and encourage her to do the same, and with some reluctance she agrees. I remove my outfit and feel rather exposed standing there in my boxers. She peels off her shirt before beginning to unbutton her pants. Standing there in her red laced underwear, my eyes begin to wander the delicate curvature of her body. Tracing the outline of her collarbones, her chest, and hips, I notice shallow, slightly laboured breaths in the grooves of her ribs. Suddenly I realize she is staring at me.

 “Is the first time seeing a woman in her underwear?”

 I can hear the playfulness in her voice but my cheeks burn rouge with embarrassment. Reaching to the lock on the side of the window, she draws it open and presses the window outwards. She gently lowers herself down, a sharp exhale escapes her lips as she enters the water. I slide in beside her and allow myself to be enveloped. I surface and notice her clinging to the wall but refusing to wade any farther.  

“You alright?” 

“I’ve just never been a fan of the idea of drowning, I’ve never actually done this before…” Her voice trails off as I can hear the faint trembling in her words. 

“Never swam?” 

“Not here, not in the ocean.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Here, take my hand.”

I reach towards her. She nervously laces her fingers into mine and allows herself to be pulled away from the window. I guide her out a ways and encourage her to lay back and gaze upon the night sky above. We float there in ecstasy for what feels like a lifetime. 

“Thank you, you have no idea, this means the world to me” she softly whispers. I squeeze her hand reassuringly. 

After a time we make our way back into the room and start a fire, lying beneath its glow, talking and sipping brandy until exhaustion claims the both of us and we fade into the gentle caress of sleep.

I awaken with a jolt. 10:54 am. I jump to my feet realizing I need to leave for the airport 10 minutes ago if I want to catch my flight out. I turn to bid my farewell to Scarlett, only to be greeted by a journal staring back at me with a note that reads, “Rowan.” She is nowhere to be seen. I hurriedly dress and dash out the door back in the direction of my hotel. 

Standing in line, waiting to approach my seat I feel exasperated from the previous nights events. Scarlett had scored a mark in my memory so deep I don’t dream I’ll soon forget. Ah, there it is, aisle 34, seat A. Thankfully it appears as though the flight was underbooked so maybe I can keep the row to myself. A jostle in my back sends me lurching forward and my bag scattered to the floor as some overzealous flyer is eager to grab the last bit of room in the overhead compartment. I reach down to pick up my belongings when I see the journal staring in my direction.  I take my seat and gently open the cover, as if the pages were to disintegrate if I were not cautious. 

The first page bears a note made out to me. 

“My Rowan, 

This life has been one of struggle, pain, and sorrow, but through it all the beauty shines through the fleeting moments. My body preys upon itself, my heart failing, my lungs fill with fluid, drowning myself from the inside. I don’t have much time. 

I stumbled across that room shortly after my diagnosis. A heap of shambles and disarray, resembling my own psyche. Undertaking its restoration became a renewal of my spirit. Clearing its clutter helped disentangle my distraught soul as I grappled with the abstraction of my own morality. 

Staring into the ocean terrified me, the fragility of my existence on display. It called to me as a lighthouse calling its ships to shore. It held me back from acquiescence of my fate. I felt incomplete, my story to be forgotten in the pages of time.  

Last night, you noticed me. You shone a light on my existence and gave me a place in this world. I have been adrift, alone in this journey, and although it may feel inconsequential, your companionship gave me the courage to face my greatest fear. Laying there with you there upon the soothing of the waves allowed me to come to terms with myself and destiny. 

You gave me a moment, magic captured in eternity. You have my undying gratitude, my story yours to remember.

-Scarlett”

A single, warm tear burns a path down my cheek before cascading onto the pages below. I rush to dab it off before it smears the elegant words. My heart aches and my soul feels aflame. I lean back and stare out the window. Flying long distances is always the worst part of any trip.