08-16-2013, 10:18 AM
The stranger's very atmosphere shifted. Where before he was adrift, he was anchored now and Claire was further thrown off balance. She liked to think of herself as capable of confirming to the tides of time, but deep within she acknowledged that surrendering to fate felt contradictory to her very nature. This man, whose by words, actions, and behaviors forced Claire into shifting fundamental directionality in herself simply to keep up with what he was saying. Much more of this and she would felt the rebellious urge to shut-down, walk away, and never deal with him again.
His initial question resulted in a defensive scoff from Claire, whether by her nature or by her American, New Yorker heritage, she was aversive to consider any alternative answer except a stern, 'yes!.'
But this fundamental stirring in her soul seemed to hold her back, and Claire actually entertained the remainder of this man's odd string of admissions. The details of his story glazed across the surface of her mind, barely penetrating her empathy. In fact, the only reason she kept her silence and did not walk cleanly away, was this inner stirring so completely captured by one word he uttered so haphazardly: 'coincidences.'
Did she believe in fate? Did she care? A quiet voice said yes, yes she cared deeply but that whisper clashed with the independent desire to control fate rather than accept it. Claire was a driver of her own fortune, a framework she could dispense to others, yet grasp firmly in herself. It steeled her resolve, this realization. And went so far to cast her aura with a powerful frame of individualism.
The directness of her gaze followed the billowing of his cloak, cast aside as though he were discarding self-effacing chains.
She stared at the cloak crumpled now along the sidewalk. One corner draped over the side of the curb. Discarded at her command. A simple gesture but so powerfully symbolized.
Walk away, she told herself. She had no allegiance to humanitarianism. Help yourself, the defiance glared behind her eyes. I receive no help, so why should you?
That final thought overwhelmed the tentative answer perched on her lips and Claire remembered her bitter losses and the grief calloused her of all desire to help.
"You need a life coach, not me."
Her tone was stern, but a vibrancy tinted her answer with something additional.
She was not dismissing him altogether but the reason was far from charitable. It was a tempting sensation. Not since the thrill of holding a man's life in the palm of her hand had she known this kind of specific power over another life. And she did not want to let it go.
"But let's get a drink. A strong one."
She gestured toward the tamest bar in sight, which was not that tame, but Claire could ignore whatever was waiting within.
His initial question resulted in a defensive scoff from Claire, whether by her nature or by her American, New Yorker heritage, she was aversive to consider any alternative answer except a stern, 'yes!.'
But this fundamental stirring in her soul seemed to hold her back, and Claire actually entertained the remainder of this man's odd string of admissions. The details of his story glazed across the surface of her mind, barely penetrating her empathy. In fact, the only reason she kept her silence and did not walk cleanly away, was this inner stirring so completely captured by one word he uttered so haphazardly: 'coincidences.'
Did she believe in fate? Did she care? A quiet voice said yes, yes she cared deeply but that whisper clashed with the independent desire to control fate rather than accept it. Claire was a driver of her own fortune, a framework she could dispense to others, yet grasp firmly in herself. It steeled her resolve, this realization. And went so far to cast her aura with a powerful frame of individualism.
The directness of her gaze followed the billowing of his cloak, cast aside as though he were discarding self-effacing chains.
She stared at the cloak crumpled now along the sidewalk. One corner draped over the side of the curb. Discarded at her command. A simple gesture but so powerfully symbolized.
Walk away, she told herself. She had no allegiance to humanitarianism. Help yourself, the defiance glared behind her eyes. I receive no help, so why should you?
That final thought overwhelmed the tentative answer perched on her lips and Claire remembered her bitter losses and the grief calloused her of all desire to help.
"You need a life coach, not me."
Her tone was stern, but a vibrancy tinted her answer with something additional.
She was not dismissing him altogether but the reason was far from charitable. It was a tempting sensation. Not since the thrill of holding a man's life in the palm of her hand had she known this kind of specific power over another life. And she did not want to let it go.
"But let's get a drink. A strong one."
She gestured toward the tamest bar in sight, which was not that tame, but Claire could ignore whatever was waiting within.