Resolution

The night was dancing white upon black, swirls of heavy flakes that eddied languidly. As the runways glistened, David found it hard not to be swept up in some magic moment designed purely for his viewing. He stood there, his hand against the tall, cold glass of the window. Outside the terminal, the world seemed to be full of promise.

Sighing, he slipped his briefcase over his shoulder, falling into line with the crowd of passengers filing away from the gate. The unapologetic attendant had spent the last hour explaining to them that their flight had been canceled. Ice on the runway. That was the truth behind the fantasy outside the terminal. A metaphor for life. Reality stole what might seem spectacular, entwined it with the mundane, drowned the might-have-beens beneath actually-ares. In this case, it meant David was stuck there for the weekend. He walked, aimlessly, realizing he'd been stuck where he was for the past 7 years.

What he needed was an escape. Fifty feet further along, he found one. Blue and green neon spelled out "Ye Olde Sports Bar". He entered, ordered himself a white russian, and sat. As a writer, he'd once heard someone say "There's never enough whiskey or rain." Screw that. He'd take his rainy parade with a shot of vodka.

On the television behind the bar, Dick Clark's tradition continued despite his absence, and beside David, someone slipped onto the barstool, their coat whipping up an almost imperceptible breeze. David didn't feel the shiver dance his spine until she spoke.

"Need a resolution?" The voice was airy with a hint of playfulness. When he turned, he found her smirk matched the tone.

"Pardon me?" She was slight and feminine, elegantly lined. Auburn hair framed an ivory face with soft angles and a slightly upturned nose. She turned to glance at the TV with its masses standing in what looked to be a frigid Time Square. The bartender stepped in front of the girl and she nodded toward David's drink. As the man began pouring her a white russian, she spoke again, her eyes glued to the television.

"You look a little melancholy. I figured you either needed some closure to your travels or a nice resolution to give hope to the coming year." Her eyes returned to his, searching.

"Not bad. Though I have to ask, do you always start your conversations with random guys at the bar this way?" Something seemed interesting about her eyes, but before he could decide what it was, she was replying.

"No. Only the ones who are truly seeking an answer." She was an odd one. Intriguing, but odd.

"An answer?"

"To the question." She had started stirring her drink absently, fingernails tipped with white.

"Okay, I'll take the bait. What question?"

"The only one that matters. What do I need?"

"I don't know, what do you need?" He regretted the joke instantly, but when she glanced back up at him her smile seemed bemused.

"I realized what that was long ago. For now, let's focus on your answer."

"I'm not sure I understand." He honestly didn't. Something about the way her hand moved in tiny circles was almost hypnotic. He couldn't think clearly.

"Things aren't exactly going your way this evening, am I wrong?" She looked to him and he simply tossed back his drink in answer. "The airlines gave you somewhere to stay for the weekend, vouchers for your meals, but I somehow doubt they make up for the inconvenience of your flight. Likewise, I would be willing to wager there are other things that weigh on your mind, besides." Had he told her about his flight? "I would like to offer you a holiday present unlike anything another could ever give you... I want to give you another chance."

"What did you say?" He frowned; she turned her body to face him.

"A do-over. A mulligan. Have you ever made a decision that you regretted? Is there any moment in your life that you wish you could go back and make end differently?" David laughed but the steel in her eyes stopped him short. She was dead serious.

Suddenly, he knew what was unique about her eyes. They were a soft violet. He felt her cool hand close over his where it rested on his knee, and in a rush, he was falling into those eyes.

He knew her. He'd met her before. 1999. The University library. He'd been typing when she had entered, flowing rather than walking. She had snow white hair, iridescent so that it shimmered as she walked. Like ice, he'd thought. He'd caught her looking at him several times but he'd sat frozen in indecision, afraid to go talk to her. Finally, one time he'd looked and she was gone. Until this moment, he'd forgotten it had ever happened. Now, his heart ached for her, emptiness filling him like a dead weight. Then he remembered she was sitting beside him, holding his hand. He was back in the bar, her voice enveloping him like velvet. He could see white just underneath the edges of her auburn hair. She'd worn a wig. To hide herself from him? Could others even see what she truly looked like?

"So, what will it be, David? Will you go back and speak with me now?"

In that moment, he knew what he had been missing, the reason for his discontent with life, the fantasy stories he wrote. His answer surprised even him.

"I am the sum of my experiences, both good and bad. Without them, I wouldn't know now what I need so desperately." The ball dropped on the television to thousands of cheers. "So my question is as before. What do you need? Rather than go back, will you start over with me now?"

Her eyes showed confusion, then warmth, melting into her smile. As one, the two travelers turned to watch the New Year burst into light.

Find more by Joseph Nichols in the Author Index.

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