Streaming ...

This post is a part of the story that begins here ... a lot is missing in between, but this is a flashback for the character of Clara, a memory from about ten years earlier. It does not happen immediately after the Bittersweet post, it occurs later in the story but seems to fit this week's "Salt water" prompt so I am sharing it now.


... he told me to stay put. That he’d be right there. Here. He was coming. It’d been months, but he was coming to get me. Jacob. Here. Coming to get me.

I sat down with a cup of coffee in my hand, but spent most of the time blowing on it to cool it down. And I waited. Maybe he won’t come, I thought. He’ll come, my mind whispered. This is Jacob. You know he will come. Maybe he won’t. It’s been so long. He’ll come. For you, he’ll do anything. Anything you need.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, and in reality was minutes before he stood before me. Jacob. I stood up. He walked over. Held out his arms and I burst into tears. Jacob. Here. Holding me in his arms. I could feel myself releasing every drop of tension in my body as his scent enveloped me. He smelled like sage, maybe ginger or nutmeg? Or was that the coffee shop? He smelled so familiar. Is it possible that a person’s scent truly doesn’t change? No matter what they surround themselves with? Jacob. Here. Holding me in his arms. The tears came heavily now as he sat me down and sat himself directly beside me. I couldn’t look at him. Instead I watched my tears land on the napkin on the table in front of me. Was I crying that hard? That intensely?

“Clara,” he whispered. He really was there. “What’s going on?” I wiped my eyes and willed myself to look up at him. He leaned forward, “You can tell me, C. What happened?” He was so close. I felt my stomach lurch. The last time we were this close, so close. I shivered, shaking off the forceful memory. “Clara?” he whispered again, waiting.

“I just can’t do it anymore.” And with that I broke into more tears.

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