4:53 AM and Thursday was already shaping up to be a beautiful day. With the flashes of her dream remaining so vivid in her mind, Boston Keating set her mind that she would find him. If only there were some way to identify him, to know just a little more about the man she saw one time, but had become completely infatuated with. Her apartment didn’t have the best heat, or insulation, so winter mornings were always the hardest when it came time to unwrap herself, but it had to be done. The cold January morning greeted her skin with a sharp sting as she peeled back her covers to get out of bed. In one movement, she spun to the left, sat up, and stepped into her slippers with the precision of a surgeon. Stumbling through the dark room, into the hallway, and finding the light switch for the bathroom, Boston was ready to begin her day with her ritualistic walk in the park.
Brown’s Park was two blocks from her apartment, and across 95th Street. Brown’s covered approximately 480 acres and was wonderfully landscaped with just the right amount of trees, walking trails, and statues, with two ponds, one on each end of the park. The one, and only, time she’d seen him was on the backside of South Pond by the Weeping Angel statue. Weeping Angel was a statue placed by the family of a teenage girl who was found in the park brutally murdered in the summer of 2006. Boston remembered the event well because that was the year she graduated high school. She didn’t know Michelle Bronson, but everyone followed the case closely. Parents were terrified to let their daughters out of sight and news reports were making it hard to forget. Boston and her friends would walk to the site once a week to pay silent respects to a girl they never met, but had so much in common with. In 2009, the Weeping Angel was placed by Michelle’s family for two reasons: First, to serve as a reminder to those with children to never take them for granted; and second, to keep a watch over the kids at the park. Obviously, the later was a metaphor, but the point was made quite well. The statue stood towering from base to top at nearly 30 feet. Her wings appeared to be conveying sadness, as they drooped downwards almost enveloping the lower back and outer thighs of the figure. Her hands were placed delicately on her face, with her head slightly down, weeping. Yet, her fingers were slightly parted so that, even though saddened with loss, she could remain vigilant for those still with us.
After high school ended, their weekly meetings at the park started to become more of a monthly meeting. Then, when college started, and friends moved away, even less frequent. Boston, however, stayed in the area and continued to walk the park daily. It gave her peace to walk alone. To let life’s woes fall by the wayside for 45 minutes. She didn’t take any calls during the walk. No text messages, no emails, no bills, no music, no worries. One thing she could not let go of on her walks was her loneliness. She’d ponder that every day. Of course she was lonely. Here she was a fairly recent college grad, with a job that was very demanding of her, often leading to 12 hour days and for what? Trying to reach the next level? She wasn’t sure that this was what she wanted. But, it was today’s reality, and therefore, her potential future. But it came with a continued loneliness. She’d seen it firsthand. Many of the individuals in positions of leadership within her company were either single or divorced. Power had a way of making them feel as if they were too important to care about anyone besides themselves. She saw this as a sad reality, but an inevitable fate for her. She hated the loneliness though, and that’s why she continued to walk the park daily. Love was always her excuse.
It was about two months ago, November 9th if she recalled correctly, when the focus of her morning walk was changed. She’d always dreamed of the day when she would find him, the one. And find him, she did. He passed her in the park on her morning walk. She'd been watching him as he approached. With his head down and his hands in his pockets, he hadn't given her so much as a glance. But there he was, the absolute man of her dreams. His stride was flawless and graceful, but manly. His build was average but he carried himself with confidence, not cockiness. And his eyes. Oh his eyes! When he looked up to apologize for almost bumping into her, she could feel his eyes looking deeper into her soul than she ever thought possible. His stare was intense. Heart stopping. Lethal. That was the moment. The feeling his gaze left her with was enough to ignite her passion. Then she felt it. The pounding in her heart; her breathing became shallow and quick; her senses were exploding at the thought of him simply speaking to her. Then, it happened. She looked back at him and their eyes met once more. It was undeniable; but as quickly as he approached, he continued on, blending in with the background until he was eventually out of sight.
Day after day she returned to the park at the same time, hoping to catch him; even a glimpse could confirm that what she felt was indeed that love at first sight she'd only heard of, but never experienced. After weeks, she'd lost hope. Then she saw something. A stride she recognized. His head down, his hand in his pockets. It was him! Her heart began to beat faster, and she could hear the angel whispers in the breeze. Their eyes met again as he got closer. This time, he looked different. His eyes were wider. His stride shortened. His hands went deeper in his pockets as he extended his arms slightly. He was nervous too. It must have been mutual. It must have been meant to be. Merely paces away from one another, he took one hand out of his pocket; the hand closer to her. As he passed her, he grazed her hand with his. Not wanting to experience another missed opportunity, she grabbed his hand. As he turned, they locked eyes again. Not a word spoken between them. He reached out for her other hand. With both of her hands placed delicately in his, she stepped closer to him. Her eyes began to close. Her heart beat faster. She leaned slightly in, hoping his arms would wrap around her. And with that motion, their lips met for a moment. The softest, sweetest, romantic kiss she'd ever experienced. When her eyes opened again, it was dark, he was gone, and her alarm was going off. As she rolled out of bed, her hands still moist from her nerves, she knew it was real. Or at least it would be real…one day. But for today, this was just another passionate dream.
Want the colors that go with this story? Pre-sale starts tomorrow! For more info on the Passionate Dreams Collection see yesterday's post here.
So what did you think? Are you dying to know what happens next? Do you want a new story next month, or do you want this one to continue?