Searching for Angelina

It was a rainy night, the streets dark save for the blurred house lights that made a wavery line. My car splashed down the wet road, seemingly floating rather than driving. I passed the 6th Street bus stop, and that was where—just for a moment— I saw her.

She stood on the side of the road, a slender, lithe shadow, until my headlights revealed her clearly for one startling instant. Her dark eyes, cascading hair, half-smile, and unusual beauty stunned me with the power of epiphany. Something about her gripped my soul. Beauty is a ghost, a phantasm, a spirit with strange and profound powers.

I drove past, and the night swallowed her image but not her memory. I do not understand how this happens. Every day, you see beautiful people, yet she haunted my dreams.

Almost unconsciously, at first, I looked for her every time I drove by the 6th Street bus stop. I tried to remember what she looked like, but it's hard enough to remember clearly how your best friend from years ago looked, much less a phantom only glanced briefly in the rain.

Sometimes I almost glimpsed her. Was that her in the convertible that sped by, her dark hair blowing in the wind? Was she the shadowy figure in the crowded street at night? I chased after the phantom, but she was gone.

I admit, I even waited long evenings at the 6th Street corner, where the buses arrived. I took the buses, always searching, never finding.

I would like to say I outgrew my fantasy, but truthfully, my heart always raced just a little when I passed 6th Street. You could laugh at me for this, but maybe you understand. Haven’t we all encountered beauty that is too great to explain?

If I could go back in time, I would have slammed on my car brakes at the bus stop. I would have said something to her. Maybe she would not be anything like I expected. More likely, I would have gazed in awe at someone out of my league, beyond my dreams. At least I would have tried.

That’s what I told my best friend, Doug, years later when he met Morgan. I was happy for them and believed he had found paradise. Morgan was irrepressible, stunning, wonderful, and mischievous. She brought laughter with her like a princess bringing her entourage. But even Morgan wasn't the mystery girl I had seen on that rainy night long ago.

Maybe the girl was my curse, someone so impossible that even Morgan couldn't match her. I guess we all have our strange hangups, and this was mine, I thought as wedding reception wound down. I had watched as Morgan cut the first slice of cake and I clapped with everyone else as she fed the slice to Doug. I had made my toast to them, something corny about finding our dreams, but at least it was heartfelt. I had laughed and reminisced with my friends in the wedding party. It had been years since we had been together. Those college days seemed a long time ago for us now. It was good for my soul to see my friends so happy.

Later when most people had left, I saw Doug approaching me. At the same time, I noticed Morgan hugging the dark-haired girl and waving to her as she stepped out of the reception room. My senses suddenly snapped to life. This couldn't be possible. I stood up and started towards the doorway.

“Hey, we need you for a quick photo, big guy,” said Doug, grabbing my arm. “Come on guys. Last call.” I was pulled along with the rest of the groomsmen, and if my expression was entirely out of place with the rest of the big smiles as a photo was taken, no one seemed to notice.

The picture was taken and I turned to go.

“Okay, bring the girls in,” yelled Doug. Soon, I was part of the bridal party—the giggling girls and the smirking men. I forced a smile, too, but my impatience knew no bounds.

“Morgan,” I said, interrupting the photographer. “That woman you were just talking to. Who is she? Where is she now?”

Morgan’s face was all innocence, her eyes wide and green like a cat. “What woman?” she asked

“The dark-haired one I just saw you with. The one who just left.”

Morgan smiled. “That was Angelina. I hadn’t seen her in years, and I so glad she made it my wedding. She just left. I should have introduced you. You two would be perfect.” She smiled wickedly and looked surprised as I bolted toward the door, leaving the wedding party and the pictures behind.

I flung open the door to a rainy day. Two men were talking as they sipped wedding champagne in the shelter of the church entrance. Several kids, oblivious to the weather and not at all worried about their nice clothes, laughed as they chased each other. A red car was leaving the parking lot.

I sprinted after it as it pulled away. I ran wildly down the road, watching it disappear.

Then, it suddenly stopped.

 And there I was, a man just past thirty, tuxedo askew from running, arms waving wildly. There I was, a fool slowing down to a jog as I approached the car.

The window rolled down. Dark hair cascaded into my view. Large eyes watched warily. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

I tried to find my breath. What had I gotten myself into?

“Angelina,” I said. “Morgan told me your name. I had to meet you.”

Her eyes were wide and dark and intelligent. She was nearly as beautiful as I had imagined. “Oh, yes. You’re the best man. She told me I should meet you some day.”

“She just told me the same thing.”

“Hey, come in out of the rain. I know a good coffee shop down on 6^th street.”

I smiled. Maybe dreams could be real.