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A Glass of Merlot

Dream Date

By Michelle FowlerPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
2

Is it restricted to children to believe that the weather is controlled by their emotions? At what age does it turn from our emotions controlling the weather, to the weather controlling our emotions?

In that moment, as the cold wind whipped across my skin like a lasso of ice, I felt as though the clouds had been pulled from within me and thrust into the sky. They rolled across the sky, their grey tones as angry and hostile as the low rumble of thunder they emitted. What had happened the light pink sky? What caused the loss of the peach and golden hues glistening behind each beautiful curve as if trying to explode with the giddiness and excitement I felt less than an hour ago? This tantrum of rain and storms that cast a shadow over my evening was not how this was supposed to be- the first date is meant to me loving and sweet, like a sunrise that burns brightly into a brand-new day.

Was it her? No, surely not- she was flawless. She’d spent her day smiling and happy, going about her daily routine with a care in the world. She’d happily tried on dresses, asking opinions on which ones suited her best. She didn’t need to ask- no matter what she dressed herself in, she was effortlessly beautiful. She sat in her favourite coffee shop, taking photos of her coffee in various positions for her adorable foodie blog. Her friends encouraged her, even lending her their croissants and lunches for her to add to her photos. She was lucky to have such supportive friends right by her supporting her adorable dreams. She didn’t need to worry though- that evening I was going to sit her down and let her know that I was going to take care of her.

She came home to a perfect date setting. I’d meticulously planned out every aspect, trying to make sure everything would be the perfect story we would tell our children and friends in years to come. I’d collected and served her favourite fettucine pasta- freshly made by the little pasta restaurant she visited every Friday night for years. I’d freshly picked the flowers she always smelled every time she went to the florist. The bright yellow tulips created an effortless beauty inside the ornate glass vase her grandmother had left her when she passed away a year prior. I even went out of my way to bring her the most wonderful gift I could give her- the merlot that she shared with her father every family dinner for the past six months since he was declared cancer free. The large glass of glistening red merlot on the table in front of her was a sign that we would be able to overcome anything together.

I put so much effort into creating the perfect evening for us, but my beautiful woman didn’t even have to try. She came home to our surprise date, already dressed for the occasion as if it were fate that this evening was everything that I’d imagined it would be for her. Her blonde hair was soft and wavy made of glowing honey that flowed over her gentle shoulders, caressing her fair skin. Her slender frame was adorned with her absolute favourite dress; a beautiful dove white strapless dress that clung to her body as though sewn specifically for her delicious curves. I’d worn my best button shirt and the nicest dress pants I could find, though I knew I could never match her beauty. The sight of her in the seat across from me was a breathtaking sight and every piece as perfect as I had envisioned it. She was sitting perfectly still with her hands rested on each thigh, though she hadn’t even touched her dinner. I knew she appreciated it though, since it was absolutely everything she loved.

The sky rumbled overhead, reminding me that the perfect evening was being clouded over. I stared at her face, the rumbling breaking me out of my loving gaze and the clouds left my eyes instead of the skies.

It wasn’t right.

Her porcelain fair skin was mottled, deep purple and red that blotched her swollen skin, the delicate glow of her skin somehow lost. Her hair wasn’t flowing, it was messy and scrunched together like a bird’s nest that had fallen out of a tree. Her form fitting dress was torn in several places, a rough rope having pressed against the material enough to wear the thin material down. The material that could be seen was a deep red. The merlot?

“Jacob Henley, you know it’s not wine,” a voice called. It seemed so far away. I tore my eyes away from my beloved. The storm was loud, but the greys were being pulled from the sky by vibrant blues and reds flashing around mercilessly. They were ruining the ambience of my perfect date. People stood around me, their eyes locked on me, pointing things at me. My head whirled around, counting. One, two, three- ten people surrounding me, interrupting my date.

“You’re interrupting my date, you need to leave,” I replied. I looked back towards my beautiful woman, “darling we can enjoy our evening together soon”. I smiled warmly towards her. For a moment, she looks perfect again- her hair smooth and gentle, her dress un-crinkled and clean, and her skin beautifully fair and soft once more.

“Jacob, you don’t know this woman,” the voice called again, “you have been stalking this woman for weeks, this is not a date.” No, that’s not right. I know her. I’d been with her all day, standing my distance and watching her. She loves trying on clothes, and if you stand at a certain area you can see through the sheer curtains. Her figure was so lovely in silhouette. I’d sat tables away from her at the coffee shop, smiling and drinking the same coffee she was so excited to take photos of. I’d done this for the past year, watching her eat at her favourite restaurants, going to the flower shop every day on her way to work. I knew everything about her.

“Are you holding a weapon? You need to drop what you’re holding and put your hands in the air,” the voice cut through me. Weapon? I didn’t have a weapon. I looked down at my hands.

All I was holding was a glass of Merlot.

psychological
2

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