Clara

a flash

I am going to tell you a story now. By the time I'm finished, you will believe that it's true.

Several years ago, I walked into a shop that sold nothing but ice cubes. They had rack after rack of refrigerated displays. Round, square, trapezoidal, coloured, flavoured - never in my life could I have imagined that ice cubes came in so many varieties. It seemed almost perverse to recall that they only exist to keep things cold. An entire shop dedicated to them elevated them somehow to the realm of art or endeavour rather than mere luxury or convenience.

In the shop there was a girl. Like I said, this is a story. There's always a girl. Don't forget though - by the end of this story, you will believe that it's true. This is the last reminder I'll give you.

The girl was blonde. She had a name tag on with what I assumed was her name on it. Clara, in all capitals. CLARA. Although it didn't occur to me at the time, Clara is a very apt name for a girl who works in an ice cube store - it means 'clear', like Chiara in Italian or Claire in French. Not all the ice cubes were clear, but chances are that if you conjure one up in your mind, you'll picture it as being clear. So I think you get my point.

CLARA was tall. She had flat black shoes on and black tights running up long legs into a skirt that looked kind of like culottes but wasn't. She had a black cardigan on and the ends of the sleeves were pulled down over her wrists the way some people do when they're nervous or cold. Given the nature of the shop, I presume she was cold. In fact, it was strange that they didn't give her a more substantial uniform to wear. But I digress.

CLARA smiled at me.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Her voice was like a just-turned autumn leaf fluttering to the ground during a warm breeze. It made me want to close my eyes and smell her hair. A sensation arose in me unlike any I had previously experienced, like a tuning fork had been struck. A field of shifting magnets pulled towards a tumbling ocean. A landslide, involuntary and inexorable.

"Sir?"

I opened my eyes. I hadn't realised that I'd closed them. CLARA was staring at me with concern. She bit the corner of her bottom lip and my eyes went to her hands, where I saw healthy pink fingernails clutching the cuff of her cardigan and pressing the fabric into her palm.

"Sorry," I said.

She turned a corner of her mouth up in a shy and uncertain smile.

"Are you alright?"

"You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life and I bet you smell amazing."

I said it without noticing that I had begun talking. I blushed a shade of cherry and immediately looked down at my shoes.

"I have no idea why I said that."

I was suddenly very aware of the humming sound coming from the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. I tucked my chin deeper into my chest and stared down at my shoes like a kid believing he can turn invisible by not moving. One of her healthy pink hands with healthy pink fingernails rested on my forearm. I looked up.

She had tears in her eyes.

I held her, instinctively. Her cardigan rubbed the stubble on my chin and I could feel the warmth from her cheek and the wet from her tears on my shoulder where she rested her head.

She did smell amazing.