Saving Grace

2

Through the creaky, unoiled doors we entered the Sinatra Stroll, a little dive on the corner of Plymouth and Fortchester. I lifted my eyes to examine the high wooden ceiling, lowered them to see the rocky walls, before lowering them for the last time, to inspect the stained red carpet that ran along the floor, stretching from wall to wall. The room was lit with a series of small golden lamps and chandeliers, gently swaying as the breeze trickled in, illuminating the dark-wood bar, stools, tables and chairs, and along the back wall, the hard leather booths. My Way sounded sweetly from an old jukebox in the corner, and good old Gill, the owner, stood guard between it and the bar to 'make sure none of that modern demon music is ever heard by the ghost of ol' blue eyes'.

"What are you drinking?" Grace asked.

"Alisa," I said numbly, examining the hard expression on Gill's face.

"A what?"

I tilted my head, met her eyes.

"Alisa," I repeated. "Scotch."

Grace frowned, sauntered up to the bar, leaned on her elbows, and looked at the young bartender with a shallow yet fiery affection. Her voice was faint but sickly sweet – flirtatious and enticing. I hovered away, slipping into one of the black-wood chairs and picking absentmindedly at the bowl of cashews in the centre of the table. The hum of other pub-goers buzzed in the air like crickets at dawn, and snippets of information sunk in involuntarily. Crows won... Boss's daughter... raining Thursday... bloody oath... need a smoke...

"So," Grace chirped, snapping me back to attention. "What's your name, homie?"

She set our drinks in front of us – my scotch on the rocks and her colourful, fruity concoction. I could smell the sugar from her glass pouring out into the air.

"Richie," I said.

"Well, Richie, it's good to meet you." I nodded. "So tell me, why were you on that bridge?"

I shrugged, leaned back in my chair.

"Life..." I trailed off. "Life just got the better of me."

Grace chuckled.

"How old are you? Sixteen?"

"Eighteen," I corrected.

"Not old enough to be so cynical."

"Yeah, and what are you? Some sort of seventeen year old beacon for optimism?"

"Eighteen. And I never said I was any better."

We both fell silent for a moment and I fiddled with my drink, listening as My Way slowly faded into Strangers in the Night. I lowered my eyes.

"Do you ever feel like everything is falling apart, and no matter what you do, you can't stop it?"

Grace shifted in her seat.

"All the time."

I nodded.

"Me, too." I paused. "I just... You'll think it's stupid."

"No, I won't."

"Yeah, you will."

"Try me."

I lifted my gaze, stared deep into her crystal eyes; the colour of the seven burning seas.

"I failed a test."

Grace paused, choked on a laugh.

"You what?"

"A physics test. I got the results back this morning. I failed."

"And your reaction was to kill yourself?"

"I told you it was stupid."

"Fuck yeah, it's stupid."

I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms.

"Look, I don't need any more of your tough love act, okay? The test was important... it was important to me."

"Why?" She interjected. "Why was it so important? Do you not having anything else worth living for, apart from school?"

I let out a quiet sigh.

"I guess not."

For a moment, all I could hear was Sinatra as a dark silence fell between us.

"Well, that's bullshit."

Grace leaned to the left and reached into her back pocket, where she retrieved a small pink notebook with faux leather binding and a plain cover.

"Here," she said. "Flip to a random page."

I narrowed my eyes.

"What is it?"

"Just do it."

Hesitantly, I took the notebook in my hands and flipped the pages, stopping somewhere near the back.

"What does it say?"

I looked down, smiled absurdly.

"Steal a plane and draw a picture of Nicholas Cage in the sky." I chuckled. "What is this?"

"A reason to live," she said, gathering her coat in her hands and standing up from the table.

"What – where are you going?"

"We are going to fulfil that plan, but," she tilted her head, "I think we'll make a small adjustment. Come on."

I laughed.

"We can't just do that."

"Why not?" She shrugged. "It beats your plans for the night."

Grace turned on her heel and sauntered out the front door, leaving me perched, dumbfounded, curious. With a tingle of excitement burning in my veins, I jumped from the seat and ran for the door as Sinatra's sweet voice sung into the smoky streets.

It turned out so right, for strangers in the night.

© A.G. Travers 2018