Happily Ever

[This is for the Ides of March Digest. A little jaunt on omens and betrayal. Try out these events, for funsies!]

She was a tired divorcee who still called herself a romantic. He was a British actuary who called himself a boxer. And then, when pressed for further detail, clarified he was of the amateur variety. These two individuals, strangers, and by their own paths, landed together on the steps of an old temple on a hallowed mountain outside of Japan’s ancient capital.

She spied him before he spied her. He was bulldozing his way through the Temple’s secondary door, shoes still on, brusquely telling a trio of horrified Buddhist monks that he was attempting to enter his quarters. He was sober.

She rushed to the scene, summoning patience developed from years of a bad marriage. “Please. This is the wrong entrance.”

“You know what they’re saying?” He frowned.

“Not necessarily.” She gestured at the main door, several steps away, that the monks had also been pointing toward. Their meaning was clear, had he taken a moment to contemplate their gestures. “But it seems that’s our entrance.”

“Great. Thanks.” He said, curtly, before leaving the scene he had created.

She watched him walk away with his broad back to her. He strode upright. Self-assured. While swinging a bold watch on his wrist. People made way for him as he approached the real entrance as if in awe of his presence. She fiddled with a button on her collar as something rekindled inside her. Something she thought had died with her divorce.

There was no main dining hall at this Temple, just private hallways leading to private rooms with private gardens. But she signed up for the night tour of the mountain, including a walk through the cemetery, and she was pleased to see him assembled with the tour group, their monk guides gathering them by the koi ponds at the Temple exit. She was equally pleased to see that he was alone.

As the group commenced their excursion, and the guide introduced the 1,200-year-old burial grounds they would visit, she sidled up next to him.

“All settled in?” She asked, exerting to follow his long stride.

“Yes.” There was an annoyed tic to his left eyebrow. “Though their instructions could be better. This place is almost tediously ceremonial. Shoes off here. Don’t go there. Tedious.”

She smiled to herself. At least he was honest.

“But are you enjoying your stay so far?”

“Well it’s not the Ritz.” He chuckled. “But it’s fine. Should still get some good photos.”

She giggled. So he was the adventurous sort. As they wandered deeper into the mountain, and as they exchanged polite conversation, she was also pleased to learn that he was a boxer.

“So, ah, Kitty.” He said as their group came upon a bridge–the entrance to a mausoleum. She admired what she imagined were his bulky, boxer arms under his sweater, though the sweater seemed to hide them well. 

And Kitty wasn’t her name, but he was close enough.

“Are you traveling alone?”

She held back her response so as not to seem eager. Instead, she let their guide’s instructions fill the silence. They were on cemetery grounds, said the guide. They were at a spiritually significant water crossing. To show reverence, they were to wash their hands. She did as she was told while the man, who hadn’t yet given his name, decided this was yet another tedious instruction.

“It’s just one more thing.” He whispered, failing to dip his hand into the stone water basin as their guide beckoned them forward.

The two stood to the back of the group. “I have been traveling all alone.” She eventually replied. She patted her hands dry on the curve of her waist, her eyes traveling up to meet his face in her best impression of a doe, and not at all a starving fox.

When he responded with a slow grin, she knew she hit her mark. She flushed red with desire as he held out his arm. “Kitty.” He grumbled, voice low, as they stepped onto the stone bridge. “You are staying the night at the temple, correct?”

She stared into those cool eyes with a glittering pair of her own. “Yes. I can stay for however long.”

He gave a slight cough before assuring her, like the gentleman he was, that there was no need to extend her stay on his behalf. 

“But you mentioned you were off next to Bangkok. Maybe I could join you there?” She mused. He coughed again, leaning this time against the bridge railing, hands clutching a statue, before his grip slipped on the mossy stone. He pitched forward.

“You also mentioned you’re from England. I’ve always wanted to visit England!” She poked her head over the railing from which he was hanging. The silly man, showing off his fitness at a time like this.

He ignored her and was grasping at handholds. It was almost picture perfect. Like the Spider-Man kiss she had seen on the new glowing machines, except he was pulling himself up instead of hanging upside down. She laughed playfully at his romanticism and leaned over the railing to meet him halfway.

But, like the tease he was, he went back down. There was a yell, and then a loud splash. She sighed. Dramatic, this man. He was silent now. Playing hard to get.

Their guide called her forward. She was the last one on the bridge. There was a skip in her step as she caught up to the group, her skin glowing beautifully in the moonlight filtering through the ancient cypress trees. A creature in love.

The featured photo is my own from Mount Koya. Thank you for reading!