The Arms Bearer

"...So then, why do you go over there?"

"Because she needs me."

"Why?"

"She's afraid."

"Come on Sev'. Of what? The dark?" He laughed.

"Well maybe I’m afraid," he said watching eyes roll away. "No really. Just the thought of her sleeping alone bothers me"

"Trust me, man. If you're not there someone else will be." The mouth across the table replied before parting itself to take in dark liquid.

"No. Not like I will. I don't go for the same reasons, guys like you do."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I'm there for one reason only." He explained. “She calls every night. Same time, says one thing, 'Sev.'" He said before holding a thumb in the air. "I tell her I'm on my way." He said, index finger now in addition. "When I pull up to her apartment, I blink my lights twice. You know, to let 'er know I’m there..."

"And who the hell are you, James Bond? And what’s with the counting?"

"Yeah, anyway, I flash my lights twice." His middle finger extends to join the two. "Meanwhile she's watching me make my way from the street." He adds, soon after adjoining a forth finger to the previous three.

“You fellas, okay?" The waiter says in passing.

"Fine." the mouth replied, elbows folded and leaning forward. "Hurry, what then?"

"Good thanks." Sevrin nods to the green apron. "Well, I wait for her to answer the door and..." With the fifth finger in junction, he waves his hand goodbye.

"Oh come on Sev!”

He watches the screen illuminate with the familiar and the phone disrupts the table in a vibrating fit of light and sound. He flips it open and positions it to face, watching the mouth across from him twist and pout mocking lips. It mouths the same message being echoed by the phone.
"I'm on my way." He says with a wink. He collapses the phone on top of itself and reaches into his back pocket for folded bills.

"Are you kidding? So that's it?" The mouth says gaping for a response.

He slams the paper on the table and slides across the shiny red cushion.
"That's it, bro."

I hear the heels of feet sound her steps. I've grown observant to things like this. It makes our meeting routine and unnecessary words quaint. The locks shift in their frames and as the door opens the hinges become visible. Eventually, so does she.

"Goodnight beautiful." My lips greet the fore of her head while fingers find rest with the coupling of hers.
Her eyes are glossy. Sometimes I think they wade in her tears like bouys in the sea.

"Goodnight, Sev."

Her hands wrap themselves around my waist and travel along my shirt’s cotton seem until they touch. I lift my arms. She lifts my shirt and pulls the fabric across my limbs. Once free, I bow again to kiss her head, this time reaching for the chain of wood and metal around my neck. Lips still pressed to flesh, I seamlessly lift the chain off my neck, over my head, and unto hers. She pulls her hair through the loop of wooden beads and the cross lowers itself to the nestle of her chest.

"Our Father..."
"Pater noster..." She bows her head.
"Which art in Heaven."
"Qui es in Caelis" she repeats in weary air and weighted eyes.
"Hallowed be thy name..."
"Sanctificetur Nomen Tuum."

We continue in this fashion: Me whispering the Lord's Prayer upon her face, held between my hands and her tracing the words as they run down her head like anointing oil.

"Forgive us our debts..."
"Domittee nobis debita nostra..."
"As we forgive our debtors..."
"Sicut nos dimittus..."
"And lead us not unto temptation..."
"...ne nos inducas in tentationem..."
"But deliver us from evil"
"...libera nos..."
"For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory..."
"Qouniam tibi est Regnum... Potestas...et Gloria" she rasped. The words poured and filled her until single tears ran in overflow.

With an "Amen" my hands ran from the nape of her neck, to the catch of her hips and legs. I lift, she shifts and we both are off to the bedroom, our brink of war. The cold sheets are folded back across the bed waiting for its company. The blinds are drawn just enough to catch the rays of moon that spill across her skin. She has already prepared herself for the battle that awaits with the damper of sleep. Here, there will be no rest. No dreams heavy with the desires of the subconscious, for the haunting that lies ahead she does not want. Tonight my prayers will gird her like the dress of warriors. And my embrace: her arms against forces unseen. Under the onslaught her body will shake, teeth will chatter, she'll shriek for deliverance, and gasp for breath.

"Excieo! Awaken!" I'll command, pulling her from the territory of her enemy and into the safety of consciousness. Again, I'll promise, that when she charges the frontline of slumber to be her bearer of arms.

Note From Author:
Thank you for taking the time to read this piece, it's dear to me. Although very short I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and really all the nuances or little quirks about it are intentional. Such as the latin language, verbs that are discriptive of battle (I played on the word arms to mean both a part of the body and weapons used in defense/offense), the jump in events from drinking with a friend to arriving at the door of a women, and the fact that almost everything in this short is reduced to a definitive trait (the friend is described as the "mouth" to underline sort of obnoxious talk, the waiter is only refered to as the "green apron") so that it doesn't take away from the main character-the Arms Bearer, Sev, and his duty. I want to eventually expand this into a larger story so I would sincerely appreciate all the advice, input, and constructive thoughts I could get! Thanks for all of your time and considerations!

- MIRANDA