Fire In My Heart

Meeting Rosaline

Time carried on and with it the levels of his maturity.  His next changes were along the lines of self care. It didn’t sound as drastic as it looked, at least to her when he came in the next week with his hair combed properly, still covering his ears, the ends of which still licked the bend of his collar. The very feel of it made him need to touch the back of his head and pat the wave there down every so often. It was annoying to feel so proper rather than his disheveled self, but it made Isabelle extremely happy. 

Being that the woman had a nicely fashioned barrette to hold her tightly curled, silver hair back out of her face, he could only assume that it had a reason too. 

Sure enough she began to teach him about how to see people; how to see their intentions as they moved around the store. Their body language spoke before their words ever got a chance. 

“And their eyes,” she sighed. “Their eyes tell stories not even their bodies can. It’s what makes this change in you so important. If they can’t see you, they feel as if they can’t be seen too. It makes for the perfect escape.”

Daniel to this day felt like she was saying more than that little thought about untrustworthy people and that of shoplifters but she wouldn’t say a word more about it. 

During his time there, he learned when not to push and rather to prowl. He learned the storefront could be many different opportunities, just like life.

Just like life, he repeated in his mind as his gaze lifted from the place on the door, his hand still very firmly on the handle, begging to turn, to let him in, to walk away from these thoughts.

As the moment passed, he considered reaching out to a therapist, the grief of losing her, his role model a year ago today had finally crested over, taking complete control of him, there, during the day where anyone could see him. Daniel whined at the thought of being that desperate, that weak, that he couldn’t move past it without a helping hand to guide him through this. 

He thought of how unhelpful his parent’s had been since the incident and then again how his uncle moved overseas to follow yet another organization promoting self help and couldn’t possibly take him on being a full grown adult. Honestly, Daniel didn’t want that either. Uncle Garrett could be a lot of things to a lot of people; his door was always open… but it seemed that the last of his efforts were given when Isabelle took Daniel on. 

They practically disowned him and calling them now to dump his emotional turmoil onto what family he did have was unnatural enough to avoid vehemently. 

That then brought up the concept of friends. If he had a chance at any real ones he would have at least considered it, but Daniel simply didn’t. The morons that he thought could be, landed themselves in jail. One who had a shorter sentence thanks to his father’s lawyer, was seen going right back to it as if he hadn’t learned his lesson the first time. There was literally nowhere to turn then...

Therapy was his only option…

The thought of it made him nauseous. Having to talk to someone new about his… well, his...losses. It sounded like absolute torture. Who could possibly come out on top of that?

But then again, he was still standing in front of a door, his work room door, the one he goes in and out of daily, trying to get a handle on the past. 

Something had to change.

Daniel had been so deep within his own mind that he barely heard the door chime clang just to the right of him, but the woman’s voice, clear, yet soft, brings him back.

“Shopkeeper? Hello?” The woman calls her question as she comes around the isle. “Hey… are you alright?” she asks, her eyebrows knit with concern. 

This is exactly what he wished to avoid. These thoughts, these crippling moments to end, to stop playing out in a desperate attempt to bring him closure. Instead he stood there like an i***t, now staring at the metal knob in his hand. 

After a moment, he willed himself to let go and turn to her. His face schooled like so many times before as he greets the young woman with a kind smile. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, wishing he hadn’t. Isabelle wouldn’t have. “It’s just,” he shakes his head then not wanting to bring her day down. “Nostalgia,” he sighed, because that’s what it really was, wasn’t it? Extreme bouts of it, calling to him to fix something deep inside…

“Nostalgia really is something,” the young woman replied softly. “Sometimes it just sneaks up and gets you, right when you’re least expecting it.” 

Daniel pressed his lips together, considering what she had said then finally released the doorknob, letting his hand drop by his side.

He was free of it, at least for a little while. 

Daniel then let’s his lips curl ever so slightly, agreeing with her in a nod before looking over at the woman. Like many, she was of average height, which to him meant short. Her hair was as dark as his with a bluish tint to it, seeming to only darken it more. It was short too, barely making a bun in the back of her head, her bangs swept to the left and for an odd moment he wondered if he should think about cutting his hair.

Her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair which would be nearly overwhelming, except for her sunny disposition. She simply radiates warmth and kindness, and brightens the room far better than the tube lighting above them. 

Daniel doesn’t miss the way her eyes sweep past his to the knob in supposing that it was the culprit of his dreamy state. 

“Do you mind if I snap a picture quickly?” she asked awkwardly, making him frown. “It’s just we haven’t seen anything quite like this since our old house. Vintage is our thing…”

“Our?” Daniel questioned, haphazardly turning to check back over his shoulder for any other body that entered the store with her. 

Part of him couldn’t help but think that she could be causing a scene for someone to sneak off with a couple hundred dollars of wax and a day’s time that he simply  couldn’t get back at this point. 

But as she rambled and he checked, he hadn’t found anyone, except her. Did she really care about vintage door knobs the way she seemed to? Or was she just that type, the one Isabelle told him about? The kind that would just care to care? 

“Oh! I mean my boyfriend and I,” she said, taking her phone out. “We got a house instead of buckling down like the rest of my friends and getting married. You know, with a wedding and all of that...one day,” she continued. “But for now, it’s restoring old homes.”

Daniel simply nodded, unsure of what to say and the woman took it as an opportunity to take the shot. 

And after? Well, she bubbled up and thanked him. She tucked her phone back into her pocket and began again, waving her hands at her sides as if to remind her as to why she came in initially. 

“Sorry, I know… I just get so fixated on these things. Where are my manners?” she huffs at herself, “My name is Rosaline. Rose for short.” 

Daniel offered his hand to her to shake it and she did firmly when he gave his name and his position. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she blurted out, knowingly. “Isabelle was a good woman.”

And for some reason, he didn’t take offense to the way that she hopped around. It was as if she really truly did know Isabelle and didn’t need to ask if she was around as others seemed to. 

“Thank you,” he wanted to mumble but didn’t. He stayed firmly there as Isabelle would have wanted him to while he ushered out his response. 

Rosaline smiled softly, bringing up memories of her which landed the woman on why it was she was actually there. 

“I was hoping you were still able to keep up with her tradition of sending candles to the hospital’s gift shop.”