Only Charles and I

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. After working for so many months in the same fields, we've finally reached our goal. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money.

Our first choice was to buy the newest and best cars on the market. That was everyone's first choice—everyone except Charles. Charles wasn't much of a cars kind of guy. He was more interested in books and art. When all the guys would be on their mid-shift break they would talk about their lives. None of us really knew each other. But we've all become best friends, even family these past couple of months. They would talk bout their wives and girlfriends. Their favorite beer brands and cars. Everyone but Charles. I assume he would travel to museums in France and England. He would probably spend hours admiring the scenery, beautiful people, wars and plants throughout history all on oil canvases. He would sit alone. Distant from his coworkers but close enough to hear their conversations. He would have his nose in a book instead. Large novels that took up a majority of the space in his backpack while the others brought stacks of sandwiches or car catalogs. That's what I admired about him.

That's what I loved about him. That's what made me fall in love with him. I never once thought of another man romantically in my life. I have had my fair share of girlfriends in high school and college. I was even engaged to my human physiology tutor for some time. But it wasn't meant to be. Now I know why. It must be fate that it never worked out in my past relationships because here I am, madly in love with Charles. He was different. He was special and simple. So when the black liquid poured out of the Earth all around us and my companions spoke of newer and better cars for themselves, I imagined Charles and I away somewhere. On vacation. Only the two of us. In Paris, drinking lattés at a café. Or on the beach, enjoying a fruit of some kind. Maybe a basket of strawberries or handfuls of smaller berries. I would even join him on his expeditions to ancient libraries and historic museums. I would be bored out of my mind because history and art are my least favorite subjects. But I would do it to be with him. Only Charles and I. The man I have loved for eight years. Without him knowing it.

I stood there. Half my body covered in the "oil." Looking past all the men rejoicing in the moment. I saw him. I saw Charles. And I saw what happened to him. I saw his death. The mysterious black liquid that was going to give me the courage and money to be with the man of my dreams was something much different. Scientists are still trying to figure it out. Thirteen months after the incident. Thirteen months after his death. Still trying to figure out why only Charles died that day and the rest of us remained. Many of the men returned home with no money or energy or spirit left. I stayed. I convinced myself it was fate that Charles was taken from me. And that he would've stayed if I had died and he survived. I ran to him. I pushed aside the men that helped me unleash the unknown monster. Charles fell as I reached him, falling into my arms before hitting the ground. The black liquid was slowly seeping into his skin. I had no idea how to save him. So I held him underneath the fiery sky. My tears cleaning his face. My arms holding him so tight I was probably hurting him. And I reminded him to watch the sunset and let go.

He leaned in, closer to my ear and said, "I'll see you in Paris. Or on the beach. Maybe I'll take you to a library or museum. I'll wait for you. I love you." The sun finally set and Charles' eyes turned completely dark. The liquid stopped rushing from the ground. The air grew silent. The men around Charles and I, silent. The cheers and joy died. My dreams and hopes died. In my arms. In my mind and heart. So I sit here. In a library, writing this story. An unfortunate story of two lovers that almost had it all.