The Secret Of Us. Liesel Schmidt

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       “Don’t!” My whisper may have been a bit loud, but that was only because I was trying to make sure that Matt could hear me above the din of the restaurant. It still qualified as a whisper, in my book.

       “What? Come on, they’ll never notice.”

       “I know your mama taught you better than that,” I shot back, still in loud whisper mode. I darted my eyes around guiltily. “They’re going to catch you, and then we’ll never be able to show our faces in here again.”

      “They won’t catch me – stop worrying so much, Eira.” Matt shook his head, his brown eyes twinkling. “You know you want one,” he teased.

       “That, my love, is beside the point,” I mumbled back, feeling a grin creeping across my lips despite my best efforts.

       “I beg to differ. Think of it as seizing fortune.” Matt slid out of our booth, crouched low as he darted forward to dip his hand into the oversized carton of fortune cookies near the server’s station just around the corner from our table. As busy as the small Chinese restaurant was that evening, no one seemed to notice the handsome man as he stealthily hunched over the box to raid its contents and unearth a few extra treats.

       “Literally,” I said with a wry grin. “I love you, Matt, you know that?”

       “And I love you. Now here, eat the evidence,” he whispered as he slid a cellophane wrapped cookie towards me on the tabletop.

       I unwrapped the little cookie and broke it in half, carefully tugging the slip of paper from its folds and reading as I popped the first half into my mouth.

       “What’s it say?” Matt asked as he unwrapped his own piece of contraband.

       I cleared my throat and tried to sound serious. “‘You will travel far and seek many new horizons.’” I giggled. “Uh huh. And I’m going to be a millionaire, too,” I said, crunching into the last half of my almond flavored treat. “What does yours say?”

       Matt arched his eyebrows expectantly as he read. “‘Trust few with your future happiness or your trials will be great.’” The smile slid from his lips as he said the last words, and he seemed suddenly sobered. Gone was the playful look that had been there all evening as we had sat in our tiny booth, tucked into a corner and savoring our time together.

       Now there was only worry on his face, despite his attempt at disguising it as he finally looked at me. The smile that was there now seemed doubtful; as I searched his eyes, I felt a tiny shudder of dread.

      There’s a low dividing wall that edges along the bottom of the I-110 on-ramp at Gregory Street, unruly vines creeping over its red bricks to do battle with the graffiti so boldly and artfully executed across its rough surface.

      One phrase etched in bright yellow block lettering offered an unexpected source of encouragement to anyone who happened to catch a glimpse as they drove past.

       You are beautiful.

      The first time I saw it, I cried. I couldn’t help it. Something in me had needed to see those words that day, in that particular moment – and it was almost like a gift meant just for me.

      I looked now, just like I always did, for those words as I drove towards the ramp, needing something to boost my spirits. What I saw was as sharp as an unexpected blow to my solar plexus. The wall had been scrubbed clean, the overgrowth trimmed back to reveal a recent attempt at city clean-up. I felt tears well up in my eyes, disappointment tipping my precariously-balanced emotional state so that it finally fell and shattered.