The Girl with the Jade Eyes

Written by Rebecca Carlyle

It was late in the evening and a chilly breeze rattled through his bones. He was rushing home from the corner store with a bag of groceries with his eyes on his feet, making sure he didn’t slip and fall. He should have looked up, but he didn’t. That’s when his body slammed into another, softer body and rebounded backward. He stumbled, caught himself, and looked up. Her normally composed self had fallen into a thick lump of snow on the side of the street, the force of the impact clearly knocking her off balance. She blinked her jade-colored eyes at him.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He had almost forgotten how airy her voice was.

“No, no. That was my fault. I wasn’t looking either.” He reached out his free hand to help her up out of the snow.

She took it, her glove gripping his. He felt her weight behind it for a brief moment, and then she was standing and her grip was gone. She brushed off the specks of white that clung to her coat before looking at him again. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and her breath clouded by her mouth. She took a step closer, squinting her eyes at him in thought.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The question bounced around in his head for a moment. Yes. She may not remember, but he could recall every detail of their chance meeting six months ago at the coffee house across the street from his apartment building. She had swung open the door on her way inside and collided with him as he was on his way out. His drink was knocked from his hand by her laptop bag and tumbled to the ground, spilling everywhere. At first, he had been angry, could she at least pay attention to where she was walking? But then he looked into her eyes. She had been so flustered by the incident, apologizing profusely. She had even bought a replacement drink for him, insisting it was the least she could do. He knew that was it for him. He was hers forever.

He realized that she was staring at him, still waiting for an answer.

“Um. Possibly?” he feigned uncertainty.

She snapped her fingers. “Yes! We met at the coffee shop. I spilled your drink.” Her cheeks flushed even more. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Her laugh was a melodic chime that warmed his soul, starting in his core and spreading throughout his extremities. She remembered him. He treasured the thought. There hadn’t been a moment since then that she wasn’t on his mind. She was a constant presence in his head. More than that, there wasn’t a day that went by without seeing her. It began with a glance out the window at the coffee shop door and noticing that she kept a regular schedule. He spent a day going through everything in his storage unit until he found his binoculars from when he was younger. Then he could see through the window of the shop from his third-story apartment. The green-eyed girl always sat at a table facing the window if there was one available.

She liked to get her work done there. Getting away from home and creating her own office helped her mindset of getting things done. She liked to go in the afternoons, around 1 pm, slightly after the lunch rush. He began to go before her arrival and hovered over whomever was at her favorite table until they left. When she arrived the table had just been wiped down and she set up her laptop and notebook before ordering her grande iced macchiato with an extra shot.

He watched from his living room window. With perfectly lacquered, lavender-tinted nails, she placed large noise-canceling headphones over her wavy brunette hair, which was usually pulled into a high ponytail. Bright green eyes stared into the computer screen, deciphering emails, completely oblivious to her surroundings. He loved and hated how in her own bubble she always was. She could lose herself in her work without distraction for hours. But then again, he’d also seen her scoot her chair back and slam into people, step into the street while looking at her phone, and narrowly miss getting run over—even their first meeting had been because of her obliviousness. Between his blinds, he scanned the rest of the customers in the coffee shop, using the binoculars clutched in his sweaty palms, glazing over everyone, only narrowing in on the males whose eyes were drawn towards her.

She would be here for a while, a couple of hours maybe. But he was patient, he could wait. He remained alert. Someone needed to watch over her. She purchased two refills, minus the extra shots (he hoped), and ordered a slice of lemon pound cake before she finished working for the day and closed her laptop with a snap. She cleaned off the table, wiping it down carefully before she left the shop. He loved that about her. She was so conscious of herself and what she left behind.

As the weeks rolled by he dragged his desk from the corner of the room to the window so that he could keep an eye on her. Then he found himself going into the coffee shop, always before she arrived. He wasn’t brave enough to approach her just yet. But from close quarters he could hear her exchange with the barista. She was chatty and friendly, making the girl behind the counter smile.

It took a few days of frequenting the shop and listening in before he finally caught her name. He had been in the corner, hiding his face behind a magazine when she had arrived. She wore fuzzy gloves with a matching scarf tucked into the top of her fitted peacoat. Leaving the icy sidewalk outside, she pealed her gloves off to grope inside her purse for the red wallet as she approached the counter.

With no line in front of her, the cashier greeted her right away. “Hey, Samantha. Your usual today?”

He lowered his magazine a hair so that he could watch her interaction better. He studied her face while turning over the name Samantha in his mind. It suited her he thought. As she waited for her drink, she pulled off her scarf and beanie, stuffing them into her bag unceremoniously. Today her hair was a mess, fizzy ends full of static electricity. As she talked with the barista, she gathered up her hair into three ropes and began weaving them together into a messy braid. She tied it off with a scrunchie she pulled from a zipped section of the purse just in time to take hold of a steaming cup the barista held out to her.

“Thanks,” she nodded at the aproned girl and turned towards the table by the window that she normally sat at, turning toward him.

He rushed to pull the magazine in front of his face again, hoping he had done so before she spotted him. His heart thumped adrenaline all through his body, he could even feel the pulse in the ends of his fingertips thrumming quickly. He flipped a page without reading the text on flimsy glossed paper.

“Hey there!”

He lowered the magazine. Vibrant green eyes, full red lips, and porcelain skin stared back at him, she could have been a doll.

“No crash bang this time, I promise.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, pulling out her laptop and settling in. Realizing he hadn’t said anything, she looked back at him hesitantly, “It’s okay if I sit with you, right?”

Startled from his frozen stupor, he folded his magazine on the tabletop, “Of course.”

“I mean, we basically know each other at this point.”

Has she noticed him watching her? He tried to hide the twitch of nervousness in his fingers.

“After all, we have run into each other twice now.”

Ease flooded back into him. “Yes, well, you don’t always have to spill my drink to get my attention.”

She shot him a dazzling smile before returning to her computer. He pretended to be busy and pulled out his phone, checking his texts and then his emails. He didn’t have to wait long until she dragged his attention back.

“Did you know that it’s the Snow Moon tonight?” Her voice was clear and energetic.

“No, what does that mean?”

“Technically, the whole month is the Snow Moon, but it’s a full moon tonight so it’s extra special.”

“Why is that?”

“It signifies the renewal of spirit. It’s also known as a transitional time, the change from winter to spring, but that can also be applied to how we view our lives. During transition, we grow and hopefully change for the better. So tonight, with the full moon, we can celebrate letting go of our old selves.”

“I see.”

She took a sip from her cup, leaving a red lip stain on the rim.

“So, what’s your name? So I can stop calling you the-guy-I-always-bump-into.”

“Oh, y-yes. Sorry, I’m Adrian.” He stumbled over his words. Did she think about him enough to have nicknamed him?

“I’m Samantha.”

She returned to her laptop, her fingers gliding over the keyboard quickly stamping out words that he couldn’t see. He picked up his magazine again, unsure of how long he had to sit here for it to seem natural. He sipped the cooling coffee wondering if it would have always been this easy to meet her if he had only had the courage to sit here instead of at his apartment window.

He pretended to read the magazine, trying not to glance at her too often, until his mug was empty. Once he took his last gulp of ground dregs he pushed back his chair in a motion to stand. Her jade eyes gleamed at him from over the top of her screen.

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“Yup, I… uh… gotta be someplace.”

“That’s too bad.”

He stretched his hamstrings out before cleaning off his side of the table. He took his forest green coat off the back of his chair and threaded his arms into the sleeves. He pressed his palms into the edge of the chair back, leaning on it with his weight, unsure how to leave things.

“Well, uh… Maybe I’ll see you around?” he said, unsure of how friendly he should be.

She held his gaze for a moment and as he was about to walk away she spoke again.

“Do you have an Instagram?”

“Yeah, I do.” He ran his hand through his brown hair, brushing it away from his face.

“What’s your username?” She had pulled her phone out and he could see her opening the app.

“Oh, you can find me at theAdrianFisher.”

He waited for her to type it in. She clicked his profile and held out her phone for him to look at.

“Is this you?”

He glanced at it, the profile with seven posts and 73 followers. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Cool!” She clicked follow and he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. “See you next time!”

She waved to him as he left. It took all his self-control to wait until he was out of sight from the coffee shop to pull his phone out and open the social media app. He clicked on his notifications with the red number one alerting him of a new follower. He smiled at her name: aSamtasticLife.

From his apartment window, he could watch her in real-time, but now he also had a window into her life everywhere else. She had 459 posts and over a thousand followers. Her bio was short and sweet, “Writer, Moon Lover, Libra.” Even after she had left the shop he could keep up with her as she posted on her story constantly. He watched as she lit candles in her home and turned off all the lights in honor of the Snow Moon. He watched as she popped extra butter popcorn and dumped it in a bowl, as she poured herself a glass of wine, and as she settled in to watch a movie. At midnight she posted another story, a live video of her talking about the transitions in her life and about the parts of her that she hoped to leave behind.

Days later, aSamtasticLife posted another live video. But this time instead of a calm and collected woman, she was flushed with excitement.

“Ahhhh! You guys! I knew the Snow Moon would bring me good things. Just now, I got a phone call from the San Francisco Chronicle. Guys! You’re looking at their new columnist!”

Dozens of hearts and thumbs-ups floated about the screen as her followers reacted. He sat in his chair by the window and stared at the coffee shop. She was moving to the West Coast, leaving him here without her. He tried to tamp down the anger that radiated throughout him. He couldn’t protect her from that far away. But it was more than that, he would never have the opportunity to sit at the shop with her again. With this thought stuck in his mind, he clicked into the messenger part of the app. It took him a few tries before he could type and send it, but eventually, he braved it and asked her if she would join him for one more coffee before she left.

He kept his phone nearby, checking it almost more religiously than he checked the coffee shop with his binoculars. The day slipped by with no response, as did the next day. And the day after that. He couldn’t recall this many days without a sighting of her. He checked her social media and was alarmed by the lack of new posts, not even a story to watch.

On the fourth day, he went into the shop and while placing his order, he tried to casually ask after Samantha, if anyone knew where she was? The cashier gave him a weird look.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you where she is.”

“You mistook me. I know her. Look, I follow her on Instagram and she follows me. I’ve just been worried, she hasn’t posted in a few days and she usually posts all the time.”

“Look, dude. I don’t know you or your situation, but I can’t help you.”

Her abruptness and icy tone grated on his patience. She knew something, he just had a feeling. He slammed a fist on the countertop, leaning forward to dish it right back at her, but before he could utter a single word, the barista had joined the cashier and both of them stood their ground, asking him to leave.

He stalked from the building and paced out front for a moment, thinking. What could he do? He thought about her posts and the neighborhood, she had to live nearby right? She always approached from the south, so he began walking, the melting snow sloshing beneath his boots with every step. A few blocks later he stopped. The corner store looked familiar to him. He pulled his phone out and clicked into her profile, scrolling until he found it. A picture of her in her living room. She sat on her couch in a thick green sweater that brought out the color in her eyes. Light poured in behind her through her living room window, backlighting her perfectly. And through that window, he could see the corner store that he currently stood in front of.

He looked up and tried to place which window was hers. He crossed to what would be her side of the street and then held up his phone, comparing the view out her window, with the view in front of him. He moved about on the sidewalk until he had just the location and then turned to look at the building. It was an old four-story brick building. By the entry door, there were call buttons and a list of apartment numbers. From the photo, he knew hers was at the front of the building, and on the first floor (What kind of a girl lives alone on the first floor? Didn’t she watch Law and Order SVU?), he surveyed the three available windows.

Through the first window, he could see a messy front room with dirty clothes strewn across the couch back and a guitar leaning against the wall. The TV flickered yellowish-green hues throughout the room. It was definitely not Samantha’s apartment. He remembered her place being tidy.

Through the second window, an orderly room was visible, with clear signs of someone living there: keys on the side table and a turquoise ceramic mug on the coffee table. The wall was covered in scattered picture frames filled with photos that he couldn’t make out. The glare from the sun on the glass obscured his view. He was just beginning to think that he had found her when a girl wandered into the room. Although she was a brunette, it wasn’t her. He watched as a 30-something guy joined her in the front room. His height was exaggerated by the grey sweater wore and his hair was combed into submission. This definitely was not Samantha’s apartment.

He moved on to the last available window. This had to be hers. He peered through into the room, hope radiating with every beat of his heart. But an empty room stared back at him. The walls were unadorned and the space was vacant of any furniture. His heart dropped, leaving his chest cavity entirely. The only signs that she had been there at all were some nails still poking out of the walls.

His jade-eyed girl was already gone.