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“An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.”~ Chinese Proverb
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Excerpt from Analiese Rising …
“Look, there’s a bus,” he says with saccharine optimism.
We take off, my Vans hitting the cobblestone street hard, hurting the soles of my feet. Marek bounds up the steps.
“Scusate,” he apologizes to the round Italian man behind the wheel. He doesn’t move, making sure I get in before the door shuts.
“Grazie,” I say, my eyes locking with the driver’s. It’s like someone hit him with a stun gun.
He smiles. “American?”
I don’t answer him.
“Is okay,” the man says. “Bus comes every twenty-two minutes.”
After paying the fare, we find two vacant seats, but they’re not together. I sit across the aisle from a Chinese man in a wheelchair with shocking white hair and beard. He’s braiding thin red strings into a bracelet, a canvas knapsack on his lap.
Marek gets the only other seat on the bus, toward the back.
I smile at the man, then look out the window.
“Having a good time in Rome?” the man asks. His voice is smooth, a sound that if you listen to it too long, it could lull you to sleep.
I pull my stare away from the window and put it on him.“Yes, it’s such a beautiful city.”
“It’s a city for young lovers.” He smiles, his gaze forward, and I realize he’s looking at Marek.
“Oh, we’re not…” I’m staring at Marek. He runs his hand through his wavy hair. His face is weighed down with the strain of the morning. Not focusing on one thing, he’s searching for any threats. Making sure no person or thing is following us. There are shadows under his eyes. He must be as tired as I am.
I want to rub his shoulders, give him some relief. He keeps looking better and better to me. We’ve come so far. If we make it out of this alive, I don’t think I could let him go. With every kind thing he does, he takes a little bit of my heart.
“It is a great city for young lovers,” I say instead of finishing the other sentence I’d started. “What are you making?”
“Reminders,” he says, tying a knot at the end of one of the braided strings. “An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet. Do you believe in fate?”
“I’m not sure.”
His smile reaches to his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “Those destined to meet will, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. Just as you and he. It was meant to be. Do you see the red thread between you?”
I try to keep all emotion off my face, not wanting it to show that I think the old man is a little bit out of touch with reality. But who am I to say. I lost my grasp on reality a few days ago. My gaze travels down the aisle of the bus to Marek. “I don’t see anything.”
“Have faith,” he says. “Look again.”
Having faith isn’t my strongest trait. There was a time when I was happy. A time when Dad was around and our family was whole. All my scars are hidden, but they’re still there marring my heart. Losing parents will do that to a person. Faith is something for happy people. Not for someone jaded like me.
The bus slows, preparing to stop.
“Even the most broken of people have faith,” the man says as if he heard my thoughts. “If a man without the use of his legs can have it, so can you. Look again, Analiese.”
I’m starting to get used to people knowing my name.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Yuè Lǎo.”
The Chinese god of marriage and love.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.
A smile so warm it heats my face spreads across his lips.“The proof is right there.”
I look at where he’s pointing. There’s a red line, so faint that if you didn’t know to search for it, you wouldn’t see it. The thread is wrapped around my wrist and stretches out to Marek’s.
I shift in my seat to face the man, and he’s gone. His wheelchair is almost down the ramp exiting the bus. A man in his twenties rushes over to aid him.
“I am not in need of assistance.” Yuè Lǎo smiles. “Just because I’m in this chair doesn’t mean I’m helpless.” He comes off the ramp without help.
I lower my head and smile. A peace settles inside me that I know is the god’s doing. My hand brushes against something on my lap. It’s a red thread bracelet.
“I have faith in you, Analiese,” his voice whispers in the air to me.
Brenda Drake
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