


Spirit of Love

by slyc_willie



Category: Romance
Published: 2007-01-30
Updated: 2007-01-30
Packaged: 2017-04-30 16:23:24
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/spirit-of-love
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: Peter learns what love truly is.
Erotica Tags: Ghost, Love, Masturbation, Supernatural, Valentine, Watching
Average Rating: 4.71






        Spirit of Love


Carmen always had sad eyes, but they had always been sad in a sort of loving
way, like a child's eyes when a beloved pet has passed on. Sad, yes, but
always with the basic understanding that everything was fine, that events had
happened because they were supposed to.  
  
Now, however, they were just sad. They stared blankly out upon the world
without really seeing anything . . . least of all, me. But then, it was all
because of me that she had that look. All because of that Valentine's Day
night, one year ago.  
  
We'd had a fight – another one – and I'd had a few too many glasses of wine. I
can't remember what the fight was about, exactly, but I do remember that it
was my fault. I mentioned something about her dress, which I knew an ex-
boyfriend had purchased for her . . . it went downhill from there. She tried
to explain, saying it wasn't the same dress, but that she liked the pattern so
she had gone and purchased one just like it for Valentine's Day. It had
something to do with what Carmen had called the 'spirit of love.'  
  
But I didn't buy it. Wounded male pride was more powerful than the ability to
understand and listen. I had stormed out, wanting to "clear my head." That had
been a mistake.  
  
Now, a year later, I was still paying for it.  
  
She had moved to a new apartment, cut her hair. She used to dye it blonde, and
it worked for her, considering her natural tan and soft features. But now her
hair was short and dark, showing its natural curl. She had toned up, I could
tell. But that wasn't surprising. Carmen had always dealt with things such as
pain and grief through exercise. The first time we got back together after
breaking up, she'd gained four pounds of muscle and lost an inch around her
waist. She looked even more fit now.  
  
I followed behind her as she headed down the street from her building. She
didn't notice me, of course. I wasn't part of her life anymore, after all. But
Carmen wasn't her usual outgoing self. She used to look people in the eye,
even just casual strangers. Now, she lowered her gaze as people passed close
by, especially men. She seemed uncomfortable with the way guys checked her
out. That wasn't like her. Carmen had always been a casual flirt.  
  
She still worked at the same restaurant, I realized as we got off the bus. The
Last Chance Bar &amp; Grille had always been Carmen's second home, at least
for the two years I had known her. She had a lot of friends there, a lot of
regulars. It was a nice place. Good food.  
  
I hung back as she stepped through the door. I watched through the windows a
few minutes later as, apron wrapped around her slim waist, Carmen approached
her first party of the day. There was a smile upon her face, but it wasn't the
same one she always had. She was faking it for the sake of her guests.  
  
I felt a stab of vicarious pain through my chest. A year later, and my One
True Love was still hurting. Hell, I could practically feel it.  
  
It literally broke my heart that I was the reason why.  
  
***  
  
"Another one, Pete?"  
  
I nodded after finishing the last of my Scotch. The sharp liquid was
comfortably warm as it trickled down my throat. "Same thing."  
  
The bartender, an older, overweight man, poured another belt of Glenfiddich
over some ice, set the glass me. That's what I always liked about Scotch; no
fanfare, no swizzle stick or garnish. Just pour and drink. Simplicity in a
bottle.  
  
"So what's her name?" he asked.  
  
I chuckled at his bartender's intuition, picking up the glass. "Carmen."  
  
"Wife? Lover?" he asked, then arched an eyebrow. "Someone else's wife or
lover?"  
  
I took a sip. "The only woman I've ever loved," I said.  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"I left her."  
  
He frowned, picking up a glass to polish. It was a slow afternoon. "Why'd you
go and do a bonehead thing like that?"  
  
I sighed, took another sip. "Take a long time to explain," I said.  
  
He shrugged, glancing around the near-empty bar. "Not like I have anything
better to do."  
  
I just laughed.  
  
***  
  
I watched her for days, following her to work, as she went shopping. So many
times I wanted to approach her, to say . . . _something_, anything. But what
would I say?  
  
_"Hi, honey, miss me?"_  
  
Would she be angry? Glad? Would she slap me? Hug me? Somehow, I did not think
she would be so easily forgiving for leaving her so abruptly. I had been gone
a year, with no word. That's not a simple thing to overlook.  
  
I noticed Carmen always went to one particular little grocery store a block
and a half down the street from her building, even though there was a larger,
better-stocked, one closer. I wondered why. Maybe they had something there
that the other place did not.  
  
I had to admit that it was a cozy little place. Pretty good selection of fresh
vegetables and fruits, although the meat counter was lacking. But that
wouldn't have bothered Carmen; if it wasn't chicken, it didn't grace her lips.
She couldn't stand red meat and had a shellfish allergy since she was a
teenager. She would eat cod or pike if I cooked it for her, but usually stuck
to a mainly vegetarian diet supplemented by the occasional chicken breast.  
  
I watched from beside the typical beer selection inside the coolers as Carmen
took her basket of oranges, tomatoes, broccoli and some angellini pasta to the
counter. There was a young man by the register, about her age, light brown
hair, white T-shirt that draped off a muscular frame. And then I understood
why she liked this store.  
  
"That's all for today, Carmen?" he asked, showing dimples when he smiled. "We
got some fresh spinach in this morning."  
  
Carmen smiled, giving him a look that I had always thought was reserved for
me: a soft-eyed, thin-lipped smile that took me months to learn to read. It
was a look of desire. But the guy behind the counter hadn't quite figured it
out yet.  
  
"No, thanks. Not in the mood for spinach tonight."  
  
He nodded, eyes lingering on Carmen's face for a moment before giving her a
sheepish smile. He rang up her purchase. Their fingertips graced briefly as
she handed over a twenty-dollar bill, then again as he returned her change.  
  
"Thanks, Steve," she said, then headed out. We both watched her go, but only I
noticed the movement of her hips. Yep, there was that wiggle.  
  
I startled the kid out of his reverie as I slapped a Hershey bar and bottle of
Coke on the counter. He blushed slightly, as if embarrassed at having been
caught staring at one of his customers. "Anything else, sir?" he asked.  
  
I nodded. "Pack of Camels. Box."  
  
He produced the cigarettes, rang up my purchase.  
  
"Attractive woman," I said, reading his face. His eyes weren't on me.  
  
"Yeah," he said, a small smile on his face. "Comes in here every day."  
  
"You a little sweet on her?"  
  
He lifted his eyes – sky-blue, I noticed, lighter than mine – and smiled
boyishly. "She's . . . out of my league," he said.  
  
I shrugged. "Never know."  
  
***  
  
I felt strange as I headed out of the little store and back up the street.
Carmen was home; even from a block away, I could see the light in her window.
I imagined she was playing some Missy Higgins; indeed, as I got closer, I
could just make out the singer's haunting voice.  
  
I felt jealous that Carmen was attracted to that young man. But I had no
right; I had left her, after all. I couldn't blame her for wanting to feel
like a woman again, for enjoying the attentions of another man.  
  
And I had to admit, Steve seemed like a nice guy. Humble, boyish . . . until
she met me, Carmen had always dating guys that were too full of themselves to
treat her right. I was different, she'd told me, and chalked it up to our ten-
year age difference. She used to make a little joke out of the fact that I was
the oldest man she had ever dated . . . even on the night I proposed. But it
hadn't been a joke, then. It had been a recognition of my maturity, of her
love for me.  
  
I took a deep breath to control my emotions. I loved Carmen; I always would, I
knew. But she was no longer part of my life, and I had to move on.  
  
But I had to show her that I understood the spirit of love, first.  
  
***  
  
I caught Steve coming out of the store the following day, once his shift was
over. The kid worked long hours, I realized. Good work ethic. He draped a
denim jacket over his shoulders and headed down the street toward the bus
stop. He kept his hands in his pockets and his head down as he walked, as if
protecting himself from the elements, even though it was a sunny day.  
  
I caught up to the kid as he stood waiting for the bus. I pretended to just
run into him.  
  
"Oh, hey! Uh . . . Steve, right?"  
  
He snapped his head up, looking around for me, then managed a smile. He seemed
pretty skittish. He lacked confidence in himself, I could tell.  
  
"Oh . . . hi," he said.  
  
"Which bus you waiting for?" I asked.  
  
He worked his jaw a moment. "B6," he said. "You?"  
  
I chuckled. "No bus. I'm getting a drink."  
  
Steve laughed softly. "Yeah, think I'll grab a brewski when I get home."  
  
"Why wait?" I asked casually. "Come on; I'll buy you a beer."  
  
He gave me a wary look. I played it off.  
  
"Come on, kid, it's just a drink. You can catch the next bus. 'Sides, I hate
drinking alone. Makes me feel like an alcoholic." I added a friendly wink.  
  
He thought about it a moment, then rolled his shoulders. "Sure."  
  
***  
  
A couple of beers, and Steve opened up pretty readily. I figured he lacked for
an ear to listen to his life, his thoughts. He was twenty-three, Carmen's age,
taking a semester off from junior college to devote more time to the grocery
store. Steve's uncle owned the place, and I got the impression the two men
were fairly close. Steve lived further uptown, in an apartment close to the
college campus, with two room mates.  
  
"But they're never there," Steve lamented as he nursed his second beer. "And
even when they are, Rob's always whacking off on his computer and Jesse
practically lives to play Halo."  
  
"Leaves you pretty lonely, huh?"  
  
Steve gave me a wary look.  
  
I chuckled, lit a cigarette. "Relax," I said. "I'm not gay."  
  
Steve smiled thinly. "Sorry. Guess I'm just a suspicious person."  
  
I shrugged. "You like Carmen, huh?"  
  
He was a little startled by my abrupt mention of his favorite customer, but
recovered quickly, a fond smile stretching his mouth. "Yeah, she's . . .
gorgeous."  
  
"In more ways than one," I said.  
  
"You know her?"  
  
I nodded. "We don't talk much anymore, but . . . yeah, I know her."  
  
"As friends?" he prodded.  
  
I just smiled.  
  
He sighed. "So that's what this is," he said. "You wanna warn me away from
her. Well, look, I'm not big on threats—"  
  
"I'm not threatening you," I interrupted. "In fact, I'm going to help you
out."  
  
***  
  
Steve was pretty skeptical of my motives, not that I could blame him: what ex-
boyfriend tries to get his former fiancé hooked up with someone else? But his
attraction to Carmen wouldn't let him turn down the chance to learn more about
her, and to get closer to her.  
  
So I clued him in on a few things that Carmen liked: the color red, roses,
foreign films with subtitles, alternative music, British humor. Turned out
that Steve and my Carmen had a lot in common. I wasn't surprised.  
  
I felt more than a little strange as I supplied Steve with information that
would help him get closer to my Carmen . . . help him woo her, attract her,
and eventually make love to her. Suppressing my jealousy was a difficult
thing.  
  
But it had to be done.  
  
***  
  
Watching Carmen masturbate was always an inspiring sight. There were times
when she would want me to watch as she pleasured herself, then reward my
patience in the most erotic and satisfying ways. Carmen had never been a
nymph, but she enjoyed sex, and loved being watched.  
  
I wondered if she knew my eyes were upon her that evening as she walked around
her apartment in the nude, singing along with Joni Mitchell and sipping hot
tea. She certainly seemed to act like she was aware of prying eyes, if only in
her mind. But if she knew I was observing her, I doubt she would have been so
casual in her demeanor.  
  
I watched through her living room window as Carmen swayed to the beat
emanating from her stereo. I loved watching her hips move back and forth, the
muscles flexing in her thighs and buttocks, the dimples above her ass. Her
back was muscular and lean. I could just barely make out the shadowed, smooth
lips of her puffy sex.  
  
She set her cup atop the stereo, ran her hands up her torso as she turned in
profile to me. My heart began pounding faster, my cock growing as I watched
Carmen cup her firm breasts. Her face looked stoic; I wondered if she was
indulging in self-gratification only to satisfy her libido, and not because
she really wanted to.  
  
But no . . . there was that sly smile. Carmen slowly pinched and rolled her
nipples, pulling them out, watching them get erect and dark. She made a little
game of it, pulling them as far as she could, giggling when they snapped back.
Her areolas began to thicken, puffing out a little. Now I knew she was
aroused. Was she thinking about me?  
  
Or maybe she was thinking about Steve . . . .  
  
Carmen's face flushed a little, the rosy glow spreading across her neck and
cheeks. I almost heard her soft sighs, her breathing. She ducked her head,
pushing her breasts up. I tried not to moan as she extended her long, pink
tongue and tickled her own nipples. Then she licked them, swirling her tongue
around first one, then the other. Her hips rolled slightly; her left hand slid
down her taut belly to the tiny strip of jet-black pubic hair above her slit.  
  
Her nipples glistening with her own saliva, Carmen rubbed her fingertips
across them, making them stiffer and puffier. She turned toward me fully,
planting her feet apart. Her fingers were stroking slowly along the swelling
lips of her pussy. I could just make out the glowing pink nubbin of her
clitoris as it began to emerge from its dark hood.  
  
For a few minutes, Carmen stood there as if putting on a show for anyone to
see, facing the glass door of her balcony. But she was really in little danger
of being spied by anyone – other than me, of course – since her apartment was
on the top floor of the three-story building and the office building across
the street was dark and empty. Still, I knew Carmen liked the element of
possibly being discovered.  
  
Her right hand slid down her body to join her left. I watched as Carmen pried
her lips apart, exposing her wet inner pink. She craned her neck, looking down
as she pulled on her clit, making it stick out. Her thighs tensed a moment as
she stroked the little bulb.  
  
She sat down on the edge of the coffee table, spreading her legs wide. I
licked my lips, fought down the urge to release my cock and masturbate along
with her. I remembered all the times Carmen had treated me to a show such as
this; she wanted my full attention upon her. I couldn't break that tradition
now, even if she was not aware of my presence.  
  
Carmen peered down, inspecting her moist pussy intently as she spread her lips
open wide. One of her fingers made slow, lazy circles around her clitoris,
dipping down now and then to the entrance of her vagina, gathering some of the
wetness trickling from within.  
  
Her face slowly became relaxed with passion, her lips pouting and parted
slightly. Her tongue flickered out to keep them wet. Breasts rose and fell as
her breathing quickened.  
  
She slipped her middle finger inside her pussy, to the second knuckle,
catching her breath for a moment. Then slowly, she eased it out, and smiled.
The finger sunk in again, deeper this time, and she moved it around a bit;
Carmen gasped lightly, let out a whimper.  
  
My God, was she gorgeous! There wasn't man on the planet, I was certain, who
would not want my Carmen as badly as I did at that moment, had they been
watching what my eyes were drinking in.  
  
Carmen was getting into it now, leaning back on her left hand, keeping her
thighs spread wide, pushing her feet up on her toes as her finger slowly slid
in and out. I could just imagine the wet sounds of her snug little pussy as
they sucked on her finger . . . which was now two fingers, pumping slowly. She
smacked her palm against her clitoris each time she thrust her fingers inside.  
  
Her eyes closed, her mouth hung slack. Carmen's thighs twitched and tensed;
she was getting close to orgasm, I was sure. And from the way she clutched her
pussy, pressing the heel of her hand down onto her pubic mound, I knew what
she was going to do. My heart pounded as I anticipated the erotic sight.  
  
Suddenly, Carmen began stabbing her fingers faster and faster in and out of
her cunt, and she threw her head back, clenching her teeth and hissing through
them. Her muffled moans and sighed drifted to me through the panes of glass
between us. Then she began whimpering, making those high-pitched sounds I knew
only too well.  
  
With a sharp cry, Carmen jerked her hand from her pussy and thrust her hips
out. Her thighs trembled as she came, and a spray of clear fluid erupted from
her pussy, spurting out in an arc a good three or four feet. It lasted a few
seconds as Carmen convulsed, her entire body shaking, her mouth gaping open.
She slipped from the coffee table, landing on her butt on the floor.  
  
Her hands slapped between her thighs, squeezing her cunt, quelling the
orgasmic spasms. Slowly, amid deep breaths, she calmed down. Her face was
deeply flushed, and she looked half-asleep. She was always drained for a while
after such an intense orgasm. I always thought she looked so beautiful at such
times, and this once was no exception.  
  
Finally, she sat up, looking a little dazed. She blinked several times,
laughed softly to herself in satisfaction. At such moments, following her
little show, Carmen would always roll forward as I sat before her, and take my
cock in her mouth. My reward for being such a patient audience was a sweet,
loving blowjob that would not end until her stomach had been warmed with my
semen.  
  
But that was not to be this time.  
  
Idly, Carmen massaged her contented pussy, then licked her shiny fingers,
smiling at her flavor. She eyed the dark stain she'd left on the carpet, then
laughed and shrugged. She rose to her feet, stretched, headed toward the
bathroom.  
  
I breathed out._ I love you, Carmen._  
  
***  
  
"So when was the big day?"  
  
I tapped my cigarette over the ashtray, ran my finger around the rim of my
glass. "March 21st," I said. "First day of spring."  
  
The bartender smiled. "Her idea?"  
  
I met his gaze. "Believe it or not, it was mine," I said. "There are still a
few romantic souls in the world."  
  
He chuckled. "Oh, I believe it," he said. "I see them in here all the time.
Guys with more brains than balls – and I mean that in a good way – nursing
their drinks, good intentions in their hearts, looking for that perfect love."  
  
I gave him a wan look. "I never fell in love with a woman I met in a bar," I
said.  
  
He looked amused. "So where'd you meet Carmen?"  
  
"I ran into her on Broadway."  
  
He arched an interested eyebrow. "Don't tell me she's a hooker."  
  
I scoffed. "No," I said with a dark laugh. "No, I ran into her – literally.
Rear-ended her Corolla with my piece-of-shit Taurus. She was a little ticked
at first, but I offered to make it up to her over dinner. Can't tell you how
surprised I was when she said yes."  
  
He laughed. "Sounds like fate to me," the bartender said.  
  
I nodded, smiling warmly at the memory. "Yeah, it was."  
  
He was silent a moment as he washed some glasses. I smoked the rest of my
cigarette and downed the last of my second Scotch.  
  
"So, what happened, Pete?" he asked. "Why'd you leave her?"  
  
I sighed. "I made a really bad decision, acted on my feelings . . . it cost me
everything."  
  
He pursed his lips. "And does this 'bad decision' have a name?"  

I tapped the rim of my drink, deflecting his question. "One more," I said.  
  
***  
  
I watched from across the street as Steve walked her home. Carmen had a little
smile on her face as she held the bouquet of roses he had given her. That pang
of jealousy returned; I steeled myself against it.  
  
They spoke for a moment. Carmen clutched the roses; she did not seek out
Steve's hands. When he leaned in for a tentative kiss, she offered her cheek.
I felt both sorry for him and a little gladdened; on our first date, Carmen
and I had made out like bandits.  
  
She thanked him for a 'nice' date – I could just hear her soft voice drifting
through the cool night air – and left him on the street as she ascended the
steps to her building. Poor Steve looked disappointed, but he was too much of
a gentleman to try and pressure Carmen. Not that he could, he knew, from what
I had told him.  
  
Like a puppy looking for a lost home, he watched after Carmen as she unlocked
the door and headed in. Just before closing it, she looked back and smiled,
waved. He waved back.  
  
Then her eyes fell upon me. Her smile vanished; she frowned instead, as if not
sure of what she was looking at. I cursed myself silently; I wasn't supposed
to let her see me.  
  
I took a step back, into the shadows. Carmen stared a moment longer, looked
back to Steve as he said something. She forced a smile, shook her head . . .
and slipped through the door. Steve lingered a moment, then turned and headed
back down the street, hanging his head.  
  
That night, I watched through her bedroom window as Carmen cried quietly upon
her bed.  
  
***  
  
"How'd it go?"  
  
Steve snapped his head up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. The
grocery store was devoid of any customers; Steve had apparently looked for
something to occupy his time until business picked up in the afternoon.  
  
"Oh . . . hey," he said, straightening.  
  
I smiled. "So . . . ."  
  
He sighed. "I don't think she likes me," he said heavily. "I mean, we had a
good time and all, but . . . she wouldn't even let me hold her hand."  
  
"Did she like the roses?"  
  
His lips curled. "Yeah. Yeah, she did."  
  
"She keep them?" I asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. So?"  
  
I winked. "Ask her out again. Do something fun this time. Amusement park,
arcade, bumper cars, something like that."  
  
Steve narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why're you doing this?"  
  
I held his eyes for a moment. "Because she deserves a good man," I said.  
  
Steve was quiet, studying me, trying to read me. He couldn't, I knew, and he
seemed to accept that. "Well . . . I guess I could give it another try."  
  
I nodded. "You do that."  
  
***  
  
When they came back that second night, Steve leading her down the street to
her apartment, Carmen was glowing. They had gone to the arcade, I could tell,
judging by the big golden bear Steve was carrying for her. And this time, she
had her arms looped in his, rubbing against him as they made their way along
the sidewalk. Carmen looked happy. Hell, she looked more than happy. She
looked . . . aroused.  
  
And this time, when Steve leaned in for a kiss, she gave it to him. I tried
not to watch, feeling a fist squeezing my heart. But I had to. I had to know
that my beloved Carmen was happy.  
  
Still, I was almost relieved when Steve came back from the door after taking
the big stuffed bear to Carmen's apartment. He had a smile on his face,
however, of the cat-that-ate-the-canary variety. When he walked back down the
street, his head was held high and he was whistling a tune.  
  
_Good for you, buddy,_ I thought.  
  
***  
  
"You were right, Pete!" exclaimed Steve, slapping his hand on the counter
beside the register in the grocery store. "Man, it's like . . . like the first
date never happened, you know? She was so . . . fun, and . . . and she talked!
I mean, she was asking all about me and stuff . . . ."  
  
I nodded, feeling the dagger in my heart twisting a little. "Yeah, I know."  
  
He gave a me a look. "She let me kiss her," he said with a boyish grin, then
laughed. "She let me kiss her! Man! And it was . . . I mean . . . ." he
trailed off, his smile fading. "Hey, Pete, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"  
  
I raised a hand. "It's all right," I said. "You're going to see her again,
right?"  
  
He nodded, somberly, trying to hide his excitement. He didn't do a very good
job. "Tonight."  
  
"Just promise me something, all right?"  
  
He nodded again. "Sure. Anything."  
  
I stared into his eyes. "Never hurt her," I said. "And never leave her."  
  
Steve was silent a moment, staring back. It was a long moment before he spoke
again. "I won't," he vowed.  
  
***  
  
That night, I stood on the balcony once more as I looked into the living room.
Carmen had let Steve into her apartment this time, shown him around the place.
They spoke for a bit, shared a little Chartreuse in cordial glasses. Steve
didn't know it yet, but the golden liqueur was Carmen's aphrodisiac of choice.  
  
They sat down upon the couch, and Carmen put on some music. Steve looked
excited, anxious, but he remained patient. That would work for him, I knew.  
  
Then she kissed him. Soft, sweet, warm and wet, her lips pressed against his.
I could almost feel it myself. Steve looked like he was being blessed, and in
a way, he was. The most incredible woman to ever walk the Earth was giving
herself to him. I remembered how awed I had felt that first time.  
  
She stood before him, smiling down with true affection as she slowly untied
her blouse. Steve stared with real appreciation as Carmen's perfect breasts
were revealed to him.  
  
She slipped onto his lap, straddling him, took his hands and placed them on
her breasts. Steve didn't fumble or grope like a desperate high-school jock
who didn't know what he was doing; he caressed her flesh, lightly kissed her
nipples. Carmen sighed, running her fingers through his hair.  
  
"I want you," he whispered.  
  
"Do you?" she asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because . . ." he began, then paused, forming his words. His eyes stared up
at hers when he continued: "Because I feel like the peasant who's been chosen
by the princess," he said, then blushed in self-admonishment. "Th-that was
corny. I-I—"  
  
"Steve," she said, cupping his face, making him look at her again.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"It's been a long time for me," she said. "Since . . . well, since. I haven't
told you, yet, and I'm not ready to, but . . . I just want you to remember
something, and keep remembering it, when I finally do tell you."  
  
He looked confused. "What's that?"  
  
Her fingers graced his lips, and she smiled. It was a true, affectionate, even
loving smile. "I'm with you because I want to be with _you_. Remember that."  
  
He nodded. "I will."  
  
Carmen smiled again, kissed him once more. It was a different kiss, one of
longing, desire . . . need. She slid from his lap, took his hands.  
  
"Come to bed with me," she whispered.  
  
I closed my eyes, turning away. I had seen enough.  
  
***  
  
"What's'a'matter, Pete?"  
  
I stared down into my third Scotch as the bartender's words tumbled around in
my ears. I had a hundred answers to that question.  
  
"She's happy again," I said.  
  
"Who? Carmen?"  
  
I nodded, fished out a cigarette. His hand appeared before me, holding a
golden Zippo. The flame flickered before my eyes as I lit my cigarette.
"Thanks."  
  
"Sure thing, buddy."  
  
I eased back, exhaling a cloud of smoke that disappeared into the air. "I knew
it was going to be hard," I said. "I'm happy for her, I really am. She
deserves this. He's a good guy. I just . . . ."  
  
"Wish it was you?"  
  
I looked to the bartender, saw his narrow smile. I returned one of my own.
"Yeah."  
  
"Can't be easy," he said. "Seeing her with someone else."  
  
My smile remained. "It's really not that bad," I said. "In fact, it's . . .
_revealing_."  
  
He frowned with an unspoken question.  
  
I chuckled. "I think I finally understand just what she meant."  
  
"About . . .?"  
  
"The spirit of love," I said.  
  
The bartender nodded slowly, took down a bottle from the top shelf. He gave me
a wry look and set two shot glasses upon the bar before me. I watched as he
poured the dark golden liquid, inhaled the scent of very expensive Scotch. A
single pour of that stuff alone would have been twenty bucks.  
  
"I've heard a thousand stories in this bar," he said. "Some have been tragic,
others inspiring. Not too many are both."  
  
I mused silently at his words. "The story's not over yet."  
  
He pushed one of the crystalline glasses my way. "This one's on me," he said.  
  
I frowned. "Why?"  
  
He smiled knowingly. "Never had a drink with a ghost before," he said.  
  
***  
  
I didn't know how the bartender had figured it out. I guess it really doesn't
matter. Maybe he picked up on some things I had said; maybe he just took a
guess. Or maybe he had seen a few ghosts in his life and had come to realize
that we can sometimes be just as human as we had once been . . . if only for a
little while. We can smoke cigarettes and drink Scotch, interact with the
living and appear as one of them.  
  
I never went back to that bar. I imagine that Sam – that was the bartender's
name – wasn't too surprised when I never graced his cozy little pub again.  
  
But I did see Carmen, one last time, when she came to visit my grave. My
grave, within which I had been buried for almost exactly a year. She couldn't
see me, of course, even though I stood beside her as she knelt upon the soft
grass.  
  
"Happy Valentine's Day, honey," she said in a soft voice, tears already
welling in her eyes. She sniffled once, smiled sweetly. Her fingers dragged
lightly across the surface of my tombstone.  
  
"I can't believe it's already been a year," she continued. "Sometimes, it
seems like it was only yesterday."  
  
"I know," I said, even though my voice was nothing more than the sound of the
wind to her.  
  
"I've been thinking a lot about that night, Pete," she said. "God, I felt so
guilty for the longest time. Like, I should have said or done something, to
keep you from leaving. I never wanted you to go, baby. I should have stopped
you."  
  
I sunk to my knees, feeling my own tears flowing as readily as hers. "It's not
your fault," I said.  
  
Carmen sniffed up tears, tilted her head back a moment. "I know it's not my
fault," she said. "It's not yours, either. I always figured – I always _knew_
– we were gonna be together forever. And I don't know why you were taken from
me, I don't . . . I don't know why you had to . . . get yourself . . . killed
. . . ."  
  
Carmen shuddered as she cried, clutching her hands together against her lips.
I wanted to hold her, comfort her, but that was one thing I could not do. All
I could do was watch . . . and hope that she could feel me, at least in some
way.  
  
"We'll be together again," she said at last, not drying her eyes. "I know
that. And I'll be just as in love with you then as I was the night you
proposed . . . as the night you left. There will never be a man in my life as
important as you."  
  
I stared at her. "God, I love you, baby."  
  
Carmen smiled suddenly. "I'll always love you," she said, as if in response to
my words. But then her smile faded. "I've met someone."  
  
"I know."  
  
"He's a good man; you'd like him."  
  
"I do."  
  
"I hope you can forgive me, baby, but I just can't go the rest of my life
alone."  
  
"I don't want you to."  
  
Carmen rubbed her nose, looked upon my tombstone with the same love and
affection she had always given me. "He reminds me of you in so many ways. He's
smart, and humble, and affectionate . . ." she laughed softly. "He even
cuddles afterward, like you always did."  
  
I extended my hand, almost touching her soft hair, her shoulder. "He'll make
you happy," I said.  
  
"I hope so," she said, then frowned, surprised at her words. I was, too. She
had spoken as if responding directly to my words.  
  
Carmen gasped, sitting up straight, and touched her heart. Tears flowed anew,
down both our cheeks. "You're here," she whispered.  
  
I leaned close, as close as I could come to her. "I'm always here," I
whispered.  
  
Carmen shuddered as she cried, yet even as she did so, she smiled.  
  
"Goodbye, Pete," she managed to say through her tears. "For now."  
  
"Goodbye, my love. For now."  
  
Carmen cried softly for a while, letting it all out. We both did. Finally, she
dug her fingers into her jeans, pulled out the ring I had given her. The gold
glittered in the sunlight, the diamond flashed with a dozen pure colors.
Carmen lifted it to her lips, kissed it. Then she leaned forward and settled
it upon my grave.  
  
"Hold onto this for me, baby," she whispered. "So you can give it to me
again."  
  
I watched Carmen as she stood and wiped her eyes. She finally looked like she
was at peace. Her smile remained as she touched the stone above my final
resting place, then as she headed down the grassy slope toward the narrow road
through the cemetery. She looked back once, blew me a kiss, then turned away,
returning to her life. I knew she would never return.  
  
Nor did I want her to.  
  
"Peter."  
  
I felt, more than heard, the voice from behind me. It was strong, commanding,
unearthly. "Yeah."  
  
"It's time to go, son."  
  
I took a breath, and smiled as well as I watched Carmen head down along the
road, swinging her hands, holding her head high, undoubtedly anticipating
being with Steve once more. I was no longer jealous. I had found peace, as
well.  
  
I pushed myself to my feet. "I know."  
  
_-finis-_




End file.

