Romance | Fantasy | Story
The Encounter
A writer intent on suicide meets a woman
The breeze smelled of salt as Abraham Toovey stood on the deserted deck,
looking at the passing seas. In the distance, across the night water, he
saw another cruise ship, lights illuminated and filled with happy, partying souls, precisely like the ones that permeated the vessel he was aboard.
He, however, wasn't one of those carefree people. He'd toiled as a freelance writer for thirty years, penning short stories, articles, and unpublished novels.
Approaching his mid-sixties, it seemed life was well past its best days. He couldn't make people happy, especially his harshest critic; himself.
"Good evening," spoke a young woman, her hair kept neat under a silk scarf from the heavy breezes coming off the sea.
Touching his cap, Abraham smiled, saying nothing and returning his
gaze to the ocean's vastness. He wore his cap often, though it was nothing special, a flat cap, mainly to protect his bald scalp from the sun.
Abraham wore it everywhere; it had become a habit, the first thing he put on after his shower and getting dressed in the mornings. He always went somewhere with it.
Cruising for cruising's’ sake, was not what Abahams had in mind. Leaning over the ship's rails he thought nothing about the young woman with the cheery words disappearing around the sharp end of the deck.
Looking down, it was evident that unless he jumped with the power of an Olympic athlete, his best effort would see him fall to a lower deck, and instead of dying, he'd have a body of broken bones.
Abraham turned away, slapping the rail and sighing in frustration, knowing he had to look to another deck for a more accessible place to jump. Just then, the ship's bow was bathed in a bright light but vanished in a second or two. That was uncanny, he thought.
He wasn't the only one to have witnessed the strange aura. People could be heard murmuring as they hurried onto the ship's deck.
"What's happening, kid?" Abraham asked a young lad rushing past.
"Some really cool light in the sky, and then it vanished."
Abraham nodded, having no interest, but after watching the kid scamper away in excited anticipation, he returned to looking for another area of the ship from which to jump.
With plenty of people distracted by the unexplainable light show, he might find a way to get close enough to the ship's edge. No doubt he'd have to go through some 'crew-only' doors, but it's not like they would arrest him if they found him. He wasn't committing a crime, after all.
Inside Abraham's chest, his heart was pounding, and nerves pulsated under his skin. This would be his best chance.
"Wouldn't it be better to have a drink and talk?" A voice asked from the
shadows. Abraham turned, slightly unnerved, said nothing and waited.
Emerging from a dark stairwell came a young woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, and though he wasn't sure, she could be the same woman who wished him a good evening, except the silk scarf was no longer on her head.
"You can always jump ship afterwards if that's still your wish," she said and smiled. Then, he knew from the smile that the same young lady passed him earlier.
Abraham had read enough and written enough stories about angels gracing those minds in desperate turmoil. Still, no angel he had ever heard about, written about or thought about had such a slender frame, accentuated by her simple black evening gown and a silver necklace nestling in her plunging neckline. Her skin was pale, fresh and soft, and her dark eyes matched the hair that blew across her shoulders in the sea-blown breeze.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're suggesting, young lady," Abraham said, leaning back against the railing.
Had he spoken out loud about everything, he wondered.
"The bar inside is reasonably clear," she said, looking back like he would follow. "Everyone is excited about the strange lights at the bow of the ship."
Abraham knew he couldn't leap from this particular spot, anyway. So why not have a drink with her?
They sat at a booth near the back of the small bar, one of several on the ship. Abraham sipped a Macallan while the young lady enjoyed a glass of Chardonnay and figured it was about time he introduced himself.
"I'm Abra…"
"Abraham Toovey," the woman finished for him. Then, she admitted, "I'm a writer, too."
Abraham raised his eyebrows, not completely surprised. "Anything I'm likely to have heard about," Abraham asked.
"Is that important tonight, Abraham?"
"Just interested, making conversation."
"A few articles, some stories, nothing brilliant."
Abraham took a deep sip of his whisky to take the edge off the evening. "Why would you think I was going to jump ship?" Abraham asked. "You met me, what? Ten minutes ago?"
The young woman leaned across the table, her scent wafting deliciously.
"You're depressed, Abraham, clinically, so I shouldn't wonder," she told him, resting her hand on his forearm.
Abraham paused, looking at his drink. "Who are you? Some shrink? How would you know what's going on inside my head? You don't."
"Abraham, it hardly takes a shrink to know you were thinking about jumping off the ship."
"Did I say I was going to jump?" He said, unsure if he had, in fact, said something.
"No, Abraham, you didn't tell me. But listen, make me a promise you'll not jump off this ship or attempt to harm yourself for the rest of this voyage. Can you do that?"
Abraham hesitated, staring at the woman who had taken center stage in what was to be his final act.
"Look, you're a considerate person. I know you're trying to help, but explain to me how this is any of your business?"
"Okay. Well, that is not the answer I was looking for, Abraham. Won't you say, 'I promise,' and that's that."
"And there's another thing. You didn't tell me who you are; what's your name?"
"I'm a person to tell you millions of people in this world have it far worse than you. Worse than you can imagine."
"Cliche. I'm surprised," Abraham replied. "As a writer, you'll know it's not an issue one can compare. A person can be unhappy and unfulfilled no matter what privilege or not is his or her life's situation. A person can also be giddily happy. It's the inner make-up of a person that makes them what they are and how they feel."
"Spoken like a true writer."
"Hardly. Just tell me who the hell you are and what the fuck you want with me?" Abraham was embarrassed at cursing but kept himself from showing it. He wanted answers from the woman sitting across the table. "Either we can know each other's names, or I'm taking off." He stood up and exited the booth.
"I'm someone who wants to help you," she said.
Abraham pauses, turns.
"Why?"
"Does that really matter?"
The young woman came from the booth, standing up to Abraham, and touched his face. Abraham, surprised, immediately backed away.
"I'm alone, Abraham," she said.
Abraham, ready to run, moved back farther. It was unnerving, but some writers' intuition also told him it was altogether fascinating.
"Young lady, I'm probably thirty years your senior. If you think I have money, I do not. I've been writing stories for fifty years and have not had a single one published," Abraham told her, irritated at her imposition.
"You're working on a book, aren't you?"
"How do you know that?" He asked.
"I just figured. Writers are always working on something, are they not?"
Abraham gritted his teeth. He hated talking about this, but somehow she drew it from him. "Look, I have wasted fifty years writing two novels, years of work, only to realize they will never be good enough to be published."
"Please, Abraham. Sit down and finish your drink. What's this novel called and what's it about? I promise I won't tell anyone."
Abraham let himself return to the booth.
"You Can Go Home Again is the working title," Abraham said. It was the first time he had spoken the title out aloud. "It's a novel set in the future, showing what humanity could be if we ever came together. Of course, forces are working against it. I hoped it would be entertaining as well as
thought-provoking — if I ever finish it, which I will not."
"Of course, it won't be finished. You intend to throw yourself overboard, Abraham."
Then Abraham uttered something as if his words were not under his control. "Are you hungry? On this ship, food is available twenty-four hours a day."
"Famished," she said, standing and motioning with her right arm that she wanted to put her arm through his. Abraham didn't respond accordingly. "Will you tell me about your story," she asked as they walked toward the lido deck.
"If you promise to have an open mind. Maybe they have pizza," Abraham said. "I promise it's a really interesting story."
"Is it a love story, Abraham?"
At nearly four AM, the lido deck was deserted save for the two of them talking.
"I know you believe in other worlds, Abraham. So is this hard?"
"I believe we're not alone," Abraham said reassuringly, looking out the window to the slight rising of light on the horizon. "I mean if we're all there is, it would seem… I don't know. You'd really be telling me you're an alien?"
"There are things out there you can't imagine, and my world and yours are going to come together for the better of both our species, Abraham. My home is hundreds of light years from here, a place, a planet, as you say, called Heaven."
"So why are you here? If it's for our worlds to come together, why
are you on this cruise ship? Shouldn't you be doing your thing at the White House, United Nations or someplace like that?"
"Can I tell you a story?" she asked, again laying her hand on his forearm.
Abraham hated feeling nervous, but he was. Worse than that, he was
scared. Finally, he nodded.
"There will be a man, the first of your species, who will travel alone past your solar system and into deep space. People from my world will come across him and transport him."
"A person from another world and I arrange for her to eat pizza! Well done, Abraham."
"Ah you're making a joke. You must be feeling better."
Abraham nodded, but his curiosity was peaking to new heights. "Why are you here? With me? Tell me."
"Eventually we accompany him back to this planet, Earth as you call it, and our worlds come together. Wars and discontent disappear once humans realize they're not alone in the universe. We teach you how to become one as a species, and what we learn from you is immeasurable."
"What is that?"
"Diversity and emotion. Our people all look alike, we all shine with
this glowing skin, and we had long since become stagnant. From you, we
embraced emotion and affection, and we were thrilled at how your species
had so many different looks and colors. It's unique in the universe, I
assure you."
"Maybe, but it can cause problems," Abraham said, downbeat.
"Our world is darker than yours, so we evolved into being our own light. Your world has such wonderful natural resources and that beautiful sun. Ours has beauty too, but a kind that would be impossible to explain to you."
"When does my world come together?"
"In about sixty of your years, Abraham. The chosen one must grow and learn and teach. His word will be your world's destiny."
"Oh great! You had me all the way," Abraham said, getting up. "What on earth do I have to do with your wild story?"
"Should you choose to jump off this ship, none of what I told you will happen," she said.
"Nonsense. You said yourself, the man hasn't been born yet. What the hell are you telling me? Is this some joke, and you'll tell me I'm destined to become some famous writer the world cares about? I don't believe it."
"You must believe it, Abraham. You need to write. When this man returns with us, your name becomes a household word on two different planets."
"So you came here to tell me this?"
"I'm an Earth specialist in my world, Abraham. We have long since
mastered time travel and other modes of movement. You can hardly
imagine the possibilities. I volunteered to get this assignment after learning about your novel."
"You've read my novel, the one that's yet unfinished?"
The woman didn't answer; instead, looking at Abraham with pale white glowing eyes, turning blue, she took his hand.
In Abraham's cabin, she kissed his mouth. It was volcanic, two souls from two different worlds and two different times. He had no idea how long it went on before he collapsed into a deep, contented slumber.
Abraham sat up in bed, looking around. Getting dressed, he went onto the decks to try and find her. How was it possible? Was she even a woman as he knew one?
He spent the night wandering, looking at the stars, thinking of the
story she'd told him, and trying not to cry. Her staying here may alter some other incremental step that would throw off the destiny of these two worlds.
Inside his cabin, Abraham broke down and wept. The past twenty-four hours had turned his world upside down, and he had no clue where he was going. Once he managed to dry his eyes, though, he pulled out his laptop.
Abraham wrote the last sentence to finish his novel.
His cloth cap rode serenely on the swells.
Harry Hogg was born in London, raised in Scotland and now lives between the United States and Britain.
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