G. Elaine Strickland - Issue 35

Elaine is a native of Athens, Georgia, USA, and is a graduate of The University of Georgia with an Honors degree in Journalism. She served as Project Manager on the debut edition of Literary Imagination, The Review of Literary Scholars and Critics. In addition to short stories, Elaine writes poetry and is currently finishing her first novel.

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Pure Hearts

She pulled her black Volvo SUV into the angled space outside the quant French

American restaurant in her small suburban town. She checked herself in the

rearview mirror one last time, took a slow deep breath, exhaled even slower, and

then stepped out of the vehicle.

She was a broken and battered version of herself; death and grief being the

hurricane that had ravaged the pristine and peaceful shores of her life. She was

trying her best to navigate the aftermath of the storm that had washed away the

man that she had loved and what had been their life together. She was still lost but

was finding bits and pieces scattered and strown about that she recognized. She

picked each piece up carefully, and with all the gratitude a battered heart can

muster, she gave thanks for each one as they were revealed.

She grabbed the ornate handle and pulled the heavy glass door of the restaurant

open. She scanned the patrons and not immediately seeing her dinner companion,

she turned to the hostess who led her to the table he had chosen. She found him

perusing the menu, but he looked up with his warm and charming smile and

greeted her as she approached.

Daniel had always been a quite presence periodically surfacing in her life, often

just long enough to remind her that she was valued and then he disappeared again.

He was one of those rare gifts that few are lucky enough to have in their life, and

she’d always valued him, as well. While he had become betrothed to his career, she

had become betrothed to another. Alas, he was quite simply a kind and beautiful

soul whom she’d known since he was merely a boy, and she was merely a girl.

“Helena,” he spoke her name with the softness that genuine joy evokes, as he stood

to greet her with a brief and gentle hug.

“Daniel,” she responded in like manner, and then took her seat across from him.

They exchanged pleasantries, ordered their meals, and chatted about all the

superficial things that were going on in each of their lives, as they ate. It was by all

accounts a perfect meal between two childhood friends.

Daniel had left academia behind him. She had left emergency medicine behind her.

Now, for the first time in their adult lives they were both exploring what came

next.

On the table, modestly pushed to one side, was a copy of Daniel’s latest book.

While she was aware that he had become quite a prolific writer in the last few

years, this was her first opportunity to look over his writing.

“Do you mind?” she asked, nodding at the book.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I brought it for you. It’s yours.”

“Really? Thank you,” she smiled at him excited to discover this side of the man he

now was.

“Here, let me see it for a moment.” He took the book as she offered it and opening

it up, he signed her name inside the front cover along with well wishes and a

heartfelt note of gratitude for her interest. Then he handed it back to her.

She beamed back at him, her smile slowly softening, as her eyes became focused

on something very far away from the table they shared.

He brought her back when he asked, “how’s your writing going?” The love of

writing is something they shared.

She refocused on her dinner companion, weighing in on how much she wanted to

reveal, or whether this was even the appropriate time, and then she began. “I

started writing a book several years ago. It’s a love story, of sorts, but I just stopped

writing because I’m not sure if anything I’ve written is even worth reading. It’s a

bit ‘raw’ in places,” and with this revelation she began tearing up, “but it must be

to tell the story correctly. I need your help. Can you help me, Daniel?”

He paused, but without any real hesitation, he offered to read what she had written

and to give her his honest feedback. She took comfort knowing that Daniel would

never be anything less than honest with her, and then she reached up to wipe away

the tears that had, without any permission from her, begun slowly streaming down

her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Don’t pay me any attention. This just happens sometimes.”

She looked down not wanting anyone, even Daniel for that matter, to see her

breakdown in public.

But he, being the real man that he was, reached out and gently laid his hand on top

of hers. “It’s okay.” He spoke in a whispered tone. “I know this is so hard. I wish

there was something I could say or do to make things better.”

She tried desperately to regain her composure and smiled back at him. She knew if

anyone had ever expressed that sentiment from a place of authenticity, it was

Daniel and, in that moment, she felt what she had rarely felt before; a gentle

warmth from deep within her chest began to spread across her body. While it was a

rare and beautiful thing to experience, it wasn’t altogether foreign to her. She

recognized it immediately as being something divine and therefore much bigger

than herself, and she had learned to trust the Divine above all else.

Daniel’s speaking engagement pressed in on their time together. They walked out

of La Gabrielle and he escorted her to her car, while they promised each other that

they’d touch base the following week to come up with a date to meet again.

“Daniel?” He’d turned to walk away, but hearing her call his name, he turned back

to face her.

She looked at him but somehow saw him differently now. She couldn’t quite put

her finger on why, but she was moved to speak and so she did, “I love you,

Daniel.” And with those words having escaped her lips, her heart was full of such

warmth it was almost overpowering.

He stood, a bit of awe and surprise on his face, and with an almost imperceptible

grin he answered her, “I love you, too.”

Two weeks had passed since their lunch at La Gabrielle, and now he sat at her

kitchen bar reading the most raw and intimate portion of her manuscript. She sat

behind him on the sofa watching and waiting for his honest reaction, yet while she

sat and watched him, she couldn’t help but grin at how, although he was all grown

up now, he still sat exactly as he had when they’d been young children in school

together.

Having finished read the portion she’d shared, he turned to her, and as if trying to

find the exact word he wanted, he spoke “It’s sweet.”

Her heart melted. He got it.

“Really?” she asked. “It’s not too ‘explicit?”

“No,” he answered. “Not at all.”

She trusted him and sent the remainder of her writing - the outpouring of herself on

paper - with him.

The week that followed found them making plans to meet so that he could give her

back his edits and suggestions for her writing. As they chatted and tried to come up

with a suitable meeting place, he interrupted.

“Helena, when’s the last time you were held?”

She froze; a lump forming in her throat as she frantically replayed their phone

conversation in her mind trying to determine what exactly she’d said that had given

anything so personal away. “It’s been a while.” She finally managed to say. Cancer

had stolen her husband from her long before he left her.

“Forget lunch up here,” Daniel replied. “I’m coming to you. We’ll have lunch in

Monroe. There’s a Thai place I’ve been wanting to try, and then I’m going to hold

you. I swear I won’t lay a hand on you if you don’t want me to. We can sit on the

sofa and watch a movie; I’ll hold your hand. I’ll lay down next to you and spoon

with you, if you want, but I won’t touch you or make a move on you. I just want to

hold you. Okay?”

“Okay.” She replied.

Lunch was delicious, and as promised, Daniel sat with her on her sofa afterwards,

his arm draped over her shoulder, her head resting on him.

And like so many tender moments in life, it began with a soft kiss, that ignited a

passion that found them entangled in damp sheets both physically spent yet

satisfied and emotionally more whole than either of them had been in a very long

time.

Ask her if it was the feel of his rough chest hair on her tender breasts, or the way

his hands explored every inch of her body. Ask her if it was the way he looked

deep into her eyes when he made love to her for the first time, ensuring her ecstasy

before allowing himself the same pleasure. Ask her if it was the way he held her

and comforted her afterwards when tears of guilt slowly streamed down her face.

Ask her any of those things and the answer you’ll get is this... it was his soul so

beautiful and so gentle that only the Divine could have orchestrated a moment of

tender love making like the one they shared that day.

They were, quite simply, two pure and beautiful hearts beating in perfect harmony.