The average person wakes up, hearing their rusty alarm clocks somewhere in the foggy atmosphere called sleep that encapsulated their bodies. Some spring forward like revved-up engines, while others initially respond as though pulling themselves from a backyard pool filled with molasses.

Somewhere today, a woman will arise, wearily opening her eyes to a brightly filled room of antique furniture, expensive silk flowers and mauve taffeta pillows. In the midst of such external beauty she will be alone, under the mistaken impression that her lover was on a business trip, when in reality he had spent much of the previous night in another woman's arms - a woman half her own age.

Then.

Twenty years ago today, a white-haired woman opened her eyes, merely to find that the man next to her, whom she'd spent the last thirty years of her life loving, was not about to do the same. Not now. Not ever.

But.

Somewhere today, a young woman named Jewel is awakening, opening her eyes as the others did, and is ready to face the same existence called "life." Jewel must confront her own demons, her own decisions, her own reality. The events assigned to her are hers and hers alone.

Destiny.

Jewel did not greet this particular morning with joy. She languidly crawled out of her black wrought iron bed with a strange heaviness that consumed her body like the leaden feeling that seemed to flow through her tiny veins.

This is not going to be easy. Last night changed the path, the course of my life and today--I must accept the consequences. I have lost something, something special. As painful as it will be, it will merely pass with time and in the end become as faint as a twitch in my eye.

Jewel looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled and matted against her head as though she had slept on the side of a boulder. Swollen, red, puffy eyes regarded her like misty low hanging clouds. She had cried herself to sleep; the night had stolen her sun.

I look like Hell. God, not today!

She blindly made her way into the bathroom and reached for the bright, shiny brass knobs. Standing under the hot, steamy water, she silently prayed to God to give her the courage she so desperately needed to face the inevitable.

Destiny. Hers.

God, give me the strength to survive today. I must be strong. Do not let me weaken. Please help me keep my emotions intact. Please, God.

She slowly dried herself off from the baptismal cleansing. It left her weak, almost too fragile to stand. Jewel grasped the edge of the doorway to steady herself.

Perhaps that bottle of wine last night wasn't such a good idea after all.

She eventually made her way back to the beckoning bed. Wet hair clung seductively to her slender neck like silk stockings on bare, moist skin. Beads of dewy perspiration formed to her upper lip and swelled on her forehead. She lay back down on the soft comfort of the old spongy old mattress and shut her foggy eyes.

Why is this so hard? Get a grip, Jewel. Get a grip!

As her strength eventually returned, she decided it was time to do a quick wardrobe check and choose the most appropriate outfit for the occasion. Jewel thumbed through her closet, examined her clothing like a monk taking inventory of his treasured wine cellar. Nothing seemed right--it was all too frustrating, fruitless.

She finally settled on a simple black rayon dress. As she slipped it over her head, the delicate fabric fell about her body like a waterfall of desire.

Jewel stared at the reflection in the mirror. The dark dress highlighted her honey-colored skin and hair. Natural assets spilled over the scoop neck design and she could actually see her erect nipples through the material. Chilly.

Is this too sexy to wear? Maybe it is inappropriate. Too suggestive?

She was going to church for the first time in more than ten years.

Quietly, she slipped in the back pew, knowing she was late. Jewel felt a bit uncomfortable with the genuflection--after all, it had been a long time. She knelt and crossed herself carefully.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee, Blessed art thou amongst women. . ."

In a quiet crevice in the far corner of the church, she knelt and whispered under her breath: "Mimi, Pray for me."

Her grandmother had died ten years earlier during Jewel's first year of college. Jewel had just begun her studies in Fine Arts, a career that everyone in her family was against--with the exception of Mimi. The funeral service was held in this very church, the place her grandmother regarded as her second home.

Jewel had always had a fondness for drawing anything and everything. She was shy, awkward and did not have many friends. Her time was spent sketching trees, clouds, flowers--while her cousins would play outside without her. Being alone didn't bother her. It was her destiny.

Jewel was the youngest of the clan, and her grandmother tended to favor her. "Jewel is so talented," she would boast to the others. "God has given her a gift, a rare gift." The cousins were obviously jealous of her talent and beauty. They mistook her need for solitude as a form of rejection, perhaps innately understanding their own banality.

Grandfather had died when she was ten years old. Mimi had never taken it very well and spoke of him often. She would tell endless stories of how they met, how he courted her, and how she almost lost him.

"He would always bring me a single, long-stemmed yellow rose," Mimi would say, her eyes moist and drifting off into a state of reverie. Her favorite hobby outside of the church was gardening. One freshly picked yellow rose in a vase always accompanied her wedding photo.

"I am going to give you some advice, Jewel. Marry a man that loves you more than you love him. He will love you, put you on a pedestal, and never cheat on or leave you. I almost lost your grandfather once because I wasn't sure if he was enough, that perhaps I could do better. I almost lost him."

I almost lost him.

On her eighteenth birthday, Mimi led Jewel into her bedroom and shut the door. It was going to one of her grandmother's "when I go" speeches--this was clear from the very beginning.

"I want you to have this, Jewel. My mother bought me this rosary while she was in Rome. It was blessed by the Pope." Mimi thrust a sparkling set of crystal beads into her hand. The hand of an artist.

The little cross was made of gold and Jesus looked so very . . . small. The beads had a curiously bright yellowish tinge, like the honey-colored skin and hair of their new owner.

"T-Thank you." Jewel stammered and stared nervously at the floor. There was a scruff mark on her left loafer.

"I won't be around much longer, Jewel. I just wanted you to know how much I love you. Be happy, my child. Use that wonderful talent God has given you. Remember, no matter what you do, don't ever let go of the ones you truly love. Mimi grasped her hand. "Let us pray."

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou, amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners. Now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

Jewel was relieved to be excused from her grandmother's room. She put the rosary in her left pocket and went outside to draw a picture of the clouds. They seemed to be of a uniform shape and color at first blush, but a closer inspection revealed veins of moister air caught by the sun's rays, like honey poured over cotton candy. Soon the rain would fall.

Mimi died two months later. A blood vessel had suddenly burst in her brain.

Jewel attended the funeral clasping the rosary and wearing a simple black rayon dress and scruff marked loafers. The mahogany casket was adorned with freshly cut yellow roses.

At the graveside service, Jewel took one yellow rose from her grandmother's casket and walked off with it into the angry, driving rain. She walked off into the rain. Tearlessly.

When it rains on the day of a person's funeral, it means they are going straight to heaven. Mimi's words echoed in her mind.

Jewel sat in the cold, driving rain at the edge of the cemetery, drew pictures of the threatening, evil clouds and vowed never to return to Our Lady of Fatima Church.

Wet hair clung seductively to her slender neck like silk stockings on bare, moist skin. Beads of dewy perspiration formed to her upper lip and swelled on her forehead. She lay down on the soft comfort of the grass and shut her foggy eyes.

At promptly five o'clock in the afternoon, Jewel walked into the familiar coffee shop in her black rayon dress.

The clouds seemed to be of a uniform shape and color at first blush, but a closer inspection revealed veins of moister air caught by the sun's rays, like honey poured over cotton candy. Soon the rain would fall.

There, at his usual table, he sat alone.

God, please, let me be strong. Don't run Jewel, keep walking towards him.

He looked up and saw her approaching him. He smiled his usual endearing smile, but there was something disturbingly different about it today.

Nothing will ever be the same. Ever.

"Hi." He pulled the chair out for her. The same chair she had sat in at promptly five o'clock in the afternoon every day for the past six months.

"Hi."

"You look great. Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Church. I went to church earlier this morning," she replied.

He had a puzzled look on his face. "Church?"

Cody believed in Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism, the idea that each individual must respond first and foremost to rationality and observations. He viewed all religions as well as various forms of Secular Humanism in a dim light. Personal knowledge, personal experience and personal perceptions were paramount. For Cody, there was no distinction between Will and Destiny.

"Yes, church."

"Thank you." Jewel stared nervously at the floor. There was a scruff mark on her left loafer.

Jewel had met him one dreary afternoon in a local coffee shop. She'd sat down at a table in the far corner with her sketchpad and begun to draw the sundry collection of motley regulars. There was one she hadn't seen before.

He was sitting at the corner table, legs crossed and reading a worn, tattered book entitled, The Fountainhead. He reminded her of a sexy young pirate with a faint shadow of a beard and dark, mysterious eyes. Jewel's hands began to instinctively outline his shape using long, fluid strokes and fine lines. After a while, she realized she began to tremble. The act of drawing him was becoming exciting . . . mesmerizing . . . sensual . . . erotic.

She blushed and tried to look away. Suddenly, a voice that sounded like it came from a deep, hollow cavern echoed through the air.

"I noticed you were sketching there. You looked as if you're so into it. Mind if I see?"

They had coffee together, drinking equally deeply, but the thirst and satisfaction were mostly his.

Over the next six months, she spent one hour per day with Cody. That added up to seven hours a week, twenty-eight hours a month and one hundred and sixty-eight hours in all. Yet she knew Cody better than the back of her own hand. The hand of an artist.

Jewel felt connected to Cody in ways she had never felt with any man, with anyone before him. He was her friend, her confidant, her support and her guide.

Although she never admitted it, it bothered her intensely that he spent the majority of the remaining twenty-three hours per day with. . . HER. He belonged to HER. Not in a legal sense--but emotionally, intellectually and physically.

There was an unspoken agreement--they never spoke of HER.

Every night, at promptly six o'clock, Cody would collect his current novel and kiss her lightly on the cheek. Then she would watch him drive off into the lonely stillness of the early evening.

Every night, at promptly six o'clock, Jewel felt as though she had lost a tiny part of her soul.

Until last night.

At exactly six o'clock, Cody stood up from the table, as he always did. Jewel automatically turned her head upward for the traditional peck on the cheek.

But this evening was going to be different. Very different.

Cody spoke.

"Are you hungry, Jewel?"

The words startled her like lightening had struck her heart. For the first time, Cody looked nervous. Almost frightened.

"Well, if you are interested, I can go to dinner." He paused. "She is out of town. Her aunt died and I couldn't . . . "

"Yes, I am very hungry," Jewel answered abruptly. She didn't want to hear any more of the story. It was about HER.

And so they went.

Hunger.

Dinner. Cozy, dark candlelit restaurant with foreign food, foreign waiters and foreign wine.

Thirst.

Lots of red wine. They both drank equally deeply, but the thirst and satisfaction were mostly his.

Cody's electrifying eyes pierced through hers from across the hazy table. His knee was barely touching hers, his breath was lightly brushing her face, his hand was casually resting on her arm.

Lips a mere fraction of an inch away. So close. She shut her eyes. She was enveloped in a feeling so wonderful, so desirable, so profound.

The wooded area near the restaurant was dimly lit by the full moon, yet it seemed so dark that Jewel almost had to rely on her sense of touch to get around. Cody led her by the hand and gently lowered her body onto a bed of soft leaves.

Despite the effects of the wine, she was well aware of what was about to take place. Jewel's destiny on this dreamy night was to make unexpected passionate love to her friend, her confidant, her support and her guide. He began to kiss her body slowly, as though he was intent on not leaving one spot free of his lingering memory.

"Jewel, my precious gem. I've wanted to do this for so long."

Jewel gazed up at the moon. She studied its features, its color, its craters. She memorized the way it looked in every detail. She would draw a sketch of it tomorrow.

"Take me to the moon," she whispered softly.

"Take me to the . . ."

"Take me . . ."

"Take."

They both ate and drank equally deeply, but the thirst and satisfaction were mostly his.

Mimi, help me. What do I say? Where do I begin?

He spoke first. Jewel braced herself to hear the words she longed for . . . the words she dreaded.

"Jewel, what happened last night was. . .well, it was beautiful." Cody looked at her as though he expected her to interrupt him, but she remained silent.

"I am not saying I regret any of it. I don't. It's just . . . it's just that . . . well, you know. We never talk about her, but she exists, Jewel, _She exists._ No, I am not married to her and I have no idea whether or not we will be lifetime partners. I do care about her, Jewel. I care about her very much. You know that."

This is the worst moment of my life. I came in here prepared to do the talking and now I cannot even speak.

"I feel very guilty about what happened last night. At the same time, I feel good about it. Part of me wants it, well, part of me wants you. I care about you too, Jewel."

He paused.

"Very, very much. I cherish every moment we share together. You are so special to me and I don't want to lose you. I am torn. Damn. This is hard. I am so confused."

Tell him, Jewel. Just tell him you love him. Maybe he is waiting to hear . . .

"I am going to ask you for something. It may be greedy and selfish, but I am going to ask nonetheless. I want us to remain close. . .like we have been. It's just I can't. God, this is so hard. You look incredibly beautiful right now. I just want to take you back into the woods and feel you all over again. It was the best ever."

He quickly ran his hands through his fine, black hair.

"You are the best."

Why is he doing this to me? Doesn't he have a clue? Doesn't he realize how badly I want him and how perfect we are together and how I'll love him more than anyone?

"Help me, Jewel."

Help me?

"Help me be strong. You are as tempting as freshly squeezed lemonade on a hot summer day. And that's an understatement."

Hail Mary, Full of grace the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women. . . pray for us sinners. Now and at the hour of our death. . .

"Oh, Jewel."

"Be happy, my child. . ..No matter what you do, don't ever let go of the ones you truly love."

"Jewel? Jewel?"

Jewel stared silently into Cody's deep dark eyes.

Cody, her best friend, her lover.

Then she opened her lushly provocative lips. The lips that had caressed every inch of his adoring body just hours earlier. She found the power to speak.

"I'm sorry, Cody, I can't. It hurts too much. I don't want to lose you either--but it hurts so much. I have to look out for myself . . . for me."

"I understand." He lowered his gaze like a wounded soldier.

Cody looks like he just lost his best friend. He has.

"I'm not saying this is forever," she gently whispered.

The tears began their journey in her soul, weeping the way through her big, golden eyes and committing suicide off her soft, ovular chin. Jewel was crying.

Cody slowly stood up and picked up his satchel. The satchel that held his novels, her sketches, their memories. From it, he produced a single yellow rose.

"Jewel, I wanted to give this to you. I know what it means to you."

He touched her face lightly and wiped off a tear. Then he leaned towards her face. She expected the traditional peck on the cheek. The final peck that would symbolize the departure, the ending, the closure. She received words instead.

Words that were light, honest, overwhelmingly simple. Words from his heart and his soul. These words were to remain engraved in Jewel's mind for the rest of her life.

"I love you."

At promptly six o'clock that evening, Jewel's destiny had brought her to this coffee shop.

At just after six o'clock that evening, she watched the only man she ever loved walk away in the driving rain.

"I almost lost him. . .Don't ever let go of the ones you truly love."

Jewel's hand--the hand of an artist--let go of the rosary she was clasping. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the rose.

I love you.

Jewel's hand--the hand of an artist--let go of the stem.

One by one, the petals fell silently onto the wet ground.

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