The Ordeal of Love

When we vanished from the confines of Carter’s computer, the smell of cigarette smoke hit me before anything else. It immediately hit me that overcoming my dependence upon them was, for me, a Supreme Ordeal I had faced some time ago. Still, whenever I smell them, those memories come back to haunt me. Fortunately, the music that wafted through the air with the smell of tobacco was enough to redirect my attention.

Iman, Yewell, and I were perched on the rail of the deck at Siesta Key Oyster Bar. From the young girl playing acoustic guitar at the microphone and all of the other people holding guitars in the audience, I gathered that it was open mic night.  As the girl finished to a round of applause, Iman nudged me and pointed to the young man who rose and took his place at the microphone.

“Remember him?” he said.

Sure enough, it was the guy they called Adam who we last saw sitting at Starbuck’s trying to write the perfect song. As Adam started the song in the key of E minor, I realized that the dirge he was playing wasn’t the song he was striving for. He sang about loss, searching, and trying to find his place in a hectic world, and while I thought it was a good song, there was something in his eye that told me that he wasn’t entirely present while singing it. I noticed that his gaze, though it roamed around the audience, constantly returned to a particular table, and I was amazed to see a familiar face sitting there watching him.

“Isn’t that Angeline?” I asked, squinting at her through the candlelit darkness.

“She’s been coming to see him for awhile,” Iman assured.

“Are they an item now?”

“Not quite,” said Yewell. “He hasn’t found the nerve to approach her yet.”

As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I could see how intently she watched him.

“Why not?” I asked. “She looks like she’s pretty taken with him.”

“Like we said,” Iman nodded, “he’s been hurt before, and though he’s noticed her almost as often as she’s noticed him, he’s a bit reluctant to put himself out there again.”

“But he can still get up there and sing his heart out in front of all of these people?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to bare your soul to many than it is to bare it to one,” said Yewell. “There’s something to be said for diluting the reaction.”

Sure enough, as Adam finished his song, the crowd greeted him with applause, some more appreciative of the song than others. However, I could tell that the lukewarm reaction of the crowd was much easier to accept than the hot or cold reaction he might get from the girl. Adam returned to his seat, put his guitar back in its case and downed the rest of his beer as the next singer took the microphone.

Adam continually glanced back at Angeline. I could tell that he was hoping for that gaze across the crowded room, but as she feigned coyness, Adam ordered another beer, and looked back every thirty seconds or so as the next three singers took their turns.

I looked to the aliens, waiting to see what the point was of our little diversion, but they both seemed to be enjoying the music and not giving much attention to what has happening with the star-crossed lovers. It was then that I saw it happen.

Adam took another look back at Angeline and their eyes met. She smiled, and he smiled back. Her eyelashes fluttered and her gaze drifted. Adam took another large swig of beer, working up some liquid courage, and rose. He seemed to take the long way around the tables, as if he was looking for something else, but eventually came to stand in front of her table. There was an awkward moment as he stood there silently and she chatted with her friends. Though I was several feet away, I could feel his heart beating in his chest, as if it were some sort of percussion instrument accompanying the song being played from the makeshift stage. I nudged the aliens on either side of me and nodded toward Adam just as Angeline finally looked up.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Adam.”

“I’m Angeline.”

Adam stood there for what seemed like an eternity and I wondered if the aliens has slowed time down, but Adam eventually spoke again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Then time really did freeze. All movement on the patio stopped. Even the traffic behind us immediately ground to a standstill.  A single note from the guitar onstage echoed through the air.

“What happened?” I said.

“That’s his moment of truth,” said Yewell. “He’s been working up the courage to do that for quite awhile now.”

“So what’s her response?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Iman.

“Of course it does!”

“Not really. When you face your Supreme Ordeal, what matters is that you face it, not that you always win. Though it involves accessing your inner strength to make an outward gesture, the response is unimportant. It is your willingness to act that makes your rise to the level of hero.”

“But I want to know what she says.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the strength to cope with it,” said Yewell.

“What?”

“The Supreme Ordeal doesn’t always have an immediate outcome. Sometimes the inner strength it takes to act needs to be coupled with the inner strength of patience.”

“But…”

And the guitar note drifted on as I was once again transported to another time and place.