Only You

two months later

"Why don't you just take the fucking morning shifts if you're tied up in the evenings all the time?!"

Carmen bites her lip and makes apologetic sad-eyes at me. I resist the urge to slap her across the face and wipe that sorry-not-sorry look off forever. "Look, Judey, I'm really sorry...this will be the last time, I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die. And I'll make it up to you!! Alright?"

I sigh. Mr. Reed hired Carmen to work the evening shifts a few weeks ago. She's a skinny, spray-tanned shrimp of a sixteen-year-old who wandered in here looking for a way to kill time and make money. She does her job alright, but she'll have annoying nights like these when she has a last-minute date somewhere and begs me to take her shift. 

"Fine, last time," I say. "And don't call me 'Judey'."

"Last time," she repeats gratefully. She gives me a squeeze that wrings all the breath out of me. "Oh my God, thank you so much! I owe you one!"

"Yeah, yeah..." she's already got her jacket on and is dancing out the door. I watch her go, shaking my head. Carmen annoys every fiber of my body sometimes, but it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't treat me like something cursed. She's from the high school on the other side of town, so I guess she doesn't know what happened with me.

Hardly anyone comes into the store in the evenings...besides, it's a cold Friday night, just a few weeks away from Christmas. I know I'd better enjoy this time of peace before people come flocking into Top Grocery for frenzied Christmas dinner shopping. I wipe down the counter pointlessly, straighten up the candy racks, then take out my little notebook and begin to doodle. 

The door opens, and I close my book quickly. When I see who it is, my heart becomes a broken machine and the smile that flashes across my face is too quick for me to catch. 

"Hello," Ms. Blanchett says.

"Hello," I return. 

She smiles, and comes over and leans her elbows against the counter. "I'm glad you're here. I was hoping to see you. Last time I came some other girl was at the counter."

You were looking for me? She was looking for me. She wanted to see me. 

"It just isn't fair," she whispers. "You drop that masterpiece of a poem on me, and then poof, you're gone like Cinderella."

Could you tell the poem was about you, Ms. Cate Blanchett? Could you tell that you are the Dorian Gray to my Sybil Vane, that I would let you take me and break me if you wanted to?

I lift my eyes to her face and her beauty strikes me like a physical blow. She's wearing a long coat the color of red wine, and it must have been snowing outside; some spots on her coat glisten with newly melted snowflakes, and little particles of ice still hang in her yellow hair. A lock of her hair has escaped her hat and curves over one eye. She is stunning enough to bring a person to tears. A whole nation would have gone down on its knees for her.

"Say something, Jude," she says quietly.

"You're beautiful."

She looks mildly startled, I can see it in the way her calm blue eyes flicker. But then she smiles, and I know I've said the right thing.

"Are you alone right now?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply, putting my notebook into the shelf behind the counter. "I'm about to close for the night."

"Before you do, may I buy some cigarettes?" Her voice is a single wave of the ocean lapping steadily on the shore. It's even, breaks perfectly, low and melodious. Every word that comes from her red lips seem to have been polished and smoothed beforehand. 

She reaches for her purse, but I stop her hand with mine.

"Let me," I say. "Please."

I give her a pack, then slip the money in the cash register before closing and locking it. Then I take up my jacket and Ms. Blanchett and I walk out of the store. 

"Do you have a place you want to be?" Ms. Blanchett asks, the same time I say "oh, it's snowing."

She grabs my arm as we laugh. I briefly hold her hand. Maybe it's the cold, or maybe it's the feeling of her hand on my arm, or maybe it's the sound of our laughter, mingling together in the brittle night air...but I feel like I could do something beautiful and insane right now, like dance around the parking lot for her or take her hand and lead her to the stars.

"Actually," I say as I shiver a bit, "I do."

"Splendid." 

I smile, because only she would say a word like 'splendid' that way.

We get into my car, and she notices the ashtray on the dash. "Do you smoke?" she asks.

"More than I should," I admit.

She gives me a look of mock admonishment. "Are you old enough to smoke?"

"No one's ever old enough for anything," I say. "You're always too young for this and that, and then suddenly you're eighty years old."

"That is true," she muses. "You're very odd. But you're right. If this country will draft eighteen-year-olds in the army, let them hold a gun and someone's life in their hands, then why not let them smoke and drink at that age, too? It's just as arbitrary."

"I'm actually nineteen. I was held back a year, on account of being so odd."

She tosses back her head and laughs. "Alright, you're an adult. Forgive me. Would you like a cigarette, Jude?"

"Thank you. I thought you'd never ask." I accept one of the Marlboros, then lean forward so she can ignite it with her lighter. Her lighter is dark red, the same color as her coat. In the flare of the flame her eyes blaze. 

As we drive, the snow thickens until I can hardly see the road two feet ahead. I almost hope the blizzard worsens, so that we'd have to pull over and lie in the backseat pressed close to each other for warmth. But we drive steadily, until we reach the forest road. 

I peer out the crack in my window. The honey-colored moon hangs low in the sky, as if weighted down by the snow. She seems to watch the two of us with her soft gaze, and in her light I want to believe that we are the only two people in this silent white world. 

The blue-eyed goddess sitting next to me gives a little gasp of delight as I pull into the clearing. The entire meadow is covered by the soft blanket of snow, like a coating of glistening powdered sugar.

"Oh, don't drive into it," she says excitedly, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray and pulling my sleeve eagerly. "Let's dance in it. It's meant to be danced in."

So we get out of the car and find ourselves in a circle of moonlight and idly falling flakes of ice. Tonight the world is frozen in a diamond, and we are the dancers on its snowy stage. 

Cate stretches her arms to the sky, tilts her head back, and lets the snow kiss her mouth, cheeks, nose, and forehead. I watch them enviously, as they brush into her hair, catch on her eyebrows, being closer to her than I ever could be.

Cate, Cate, she's so breathtaking.

We twirl around, sending silent songs to the heavens, creating patterns in the crunching snow beneath our feet. And at some point, somewhere between the laughter and the clumsily made snowballs we throw at each other, Cate wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to her. Our faces are brought so close I can see the clusters of snow that are stuck in her hair, her dampened eyelashes, her star-filled blue eyes. And she kisses me.

Her lips fit onto mine so perfectly, so easily, it's as if we've kissed this way a thousand times before. My fingers weave through her cold locks of hair, we're both shivering but my head feels like it's on fire. Cate's skin is like porcelain, I am a clay figure meant to be molded onto her. Her grip tightens on me, and I throw my arms around her neck. My hands, icy from the snow, are pressed against the hot skin of her neck, and I feel her shudder. I feel her smile against my lips. I feel her, I feel her. Nothing is as perfect as this. Nothing could be more right.