See that girl on the bench? She doesn’t have a ride. She never has a ride. No one will say it, but everybody knows why. The only person who loves her is thousands of miles away – or so they all think – and he has no idea what’s going on. He barely even knows who she really is.
She looks nonchalant, but on the inside her mind is racing, dread filling her bones. She could walk home now, but it’s five miles away and she won’t get there until dark. She can feel the seconds ticking and the sun slipping lower in the sky. It’s getting colder, too, and she pulls her light jacket tighter around herself.
Maybe soon she’ll give up on waiting and walk home. Maybe some Christian acquaintance or a kind-hearted stranger will give her a ride. She probably knows that real parents teach their children not to get in unknown cars, but by then she’ll be so cold and hopeless that I bet she won’t care.
Maybe she’ll get desperate enough to steal a bike from that bike rack a few feet away from her bench. She knows how to pick a lock, and it’s only her good conscience stopping her from doing it. Reason #28 of why I am in love with her.
I bet I’ll lose this job if anyone finds out. I can almost hear Kent ranting about it. “You don’t fall in love with the subject. Fall in love and you’re off the mission. Love is a distraction.” I wonder how he knows.
She crosses her legs and glances around, her eyes catching the dying light. An old couple passes on the other side of the street, holding hands. A faint smile touches her lips and she waves a little when they look her way. They don’t wave back, but the smile doesn’t go away. Reason #6.
She looks so cold. I have a car a block away. I could offer her a ride, introduce myself. I could even tell her a false name, something nice and strong like Matthew or William. I could drive her some place warm and make her laugh the way she can’t at home. I bet she’d run away with me – I bet she’d run away with anyone.
The only way I am ever allowed personal contact with her is if her life is in danger. I am her protector and observer. That’s it.
If I lost this mission, someone else would get it. She is too important for the agency to let go of her just because one star-crossed agent messed up. They think she’s the one. I believe them. Reason #53.
She finally stands up and starts to walk home. It hurts to watch her live with so much fear – fear of getting home, fear of not making it there. I wish she could at least know I’m watching out for her. Kent says it’s good for her – it will make her stronger. Kent talks too much.
She doesn’t carry anything. She doesn’t lower her eyes. She doesn’t try to hide the fact that she is alone – that she doesn’t need a phone because she has no one to call and she doesn’t have a ride because she has no one at all. Except for me - that one creepy stalker guy with all the power to fix her world and none of the authority to use it. Anyway, that’s Reason #17. She is unashamed.
I doubt I’ll ever speak to her. I doubt she’ll ever know that when she her life felt like dirt and looked worse, someone loved her. But that isn’t important. I’ll fight for her either way. That’s what love is.
I bet Kent doesn’t know that.