May I?

The waitress. The teacher. The boy, and the daughter.
You may also reframe to show the artist, the mother, and of course the father. Many stories stream into one, in this story that’s soon to come. Read closely now, with careful eyes. Miss not a thing to avoid surprise.
Life happens very fast, and you’ll see many things will never last.
25 years old: already she would go nights and days with tear stained eyes. She felt she worked far too hard and had nothing to show for it. She was Mary. Mary wore her name tag near her right collarbone, over her gray and red uniform. For two years she poured coffee and took orders and time felt like a crawling snail. Although April 12th was different this year for Mary, because Mary would meet her soon to be husband.
It was 9:45 p.m, and cooling fans and flies buzzed in the highly fluorescent lighting. While rain sped down and trickled past the large windows of the diner, crashing into the blacktop, and sputtering water droplets like a car crash. The diner was almost empty and Mary was ready to clock out. She looked around the room and saw a couple elderly reading their newspaper in their long brown coats, and a tired construction worker slurping coffee. She was sure her co-worker would have no trouble cleaning up. Mary untwined the string of her gray apron just as the door slipped open and the high pitched bell let out a slight ring.
“I’m gonna be out in a minute, but my co-worker Donna can get you fixed up,” she said gathering her things not bothering to look up. “I’m sure you're just another,’ she muttered. “Nothing but coffee these days,” Mary turned around and began to reform her ponytail, into a messy bun, holding up her long brown hair and biting bobby pins from time to time, trying to get ready to leave.
The voice she heard quickly respond was a low but innocent one, it was from a young man somewhere in his twenties. Those are always the hardest years to live. “Ogh, I was actually hoping for a cup of inspiration,” he laughed. The diner was silent as he made his way to a table “It’s hard these days to paint something other than another pot of flowers or your average family,” he laughed again and set his coat across the nearest chair. “I’m working on something new. And fresh of course.” the artist began to fiddle with the pink sugar packets on the table, before he let them drop and looked up. “Could you help me with it? I need new life.” Mary turned filled with interest and confusion. The young artist stood up and pulled out the chair next to him, to make room for the waitress to sit down. “So, may I?”

* * * * * *
43 years old: a weary teacher has begged for retirement. She loved children but the years of constant work had put a toll on her thinning hope for happiness. She was Mrs.Spero. Her 4th grade classes used to love her and she would always loves them, but things were about to change. Mrs.Spero would one day learn to laugh.
All her class children flooded the room at great speeds with the sound of the bell. Each one of the children would find their desk and sit quickly on their plastic chairs. They never made any attempts to disturb their teacher. The last thing they wanted to do was make things worse.
Mrs. Spero entered the room carrying her struggles on her shoulders and around her lightly grayed hair.
“Okay. Monday. May 18th. Let’s do this,” she let at a light sigh and searched the bottom of the black board. “Anyone seen my chalk?” Her dark blue eyes scanned the crowd of little boys and blonde girls all staring right back at her in silence. “ I can’t...I need chalk or we can’t…” Mrs. Spero let out a deeper sigh and turned to face the chalkboard trying to gather her emotions. One of the blonde boys stirred in his seat, timid to speak.
“Mrs.Spero we can get more chalk,”
Mrs.Spero didn’t turn around “I know darling but…” she begin to lightly cry. “Sorry class I’ve just got a headache,” she took off her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes.
The blonde boy spoke again “Mrs.Spero are you sick, you get headaches a lot.”
Mrs.Spero let out a small laugh from her meak frame and turned back to the class. “I know,” she made her way to her desk and began. “I wasn’t always sad, I’ve had happy days.”
“Tell us, tell us,” the blonde boy cried.
“No, no, it’s far too long of a tale.”
“Please Mrs. Spero.”
“Hmm,” she scratched her head. “Alright, but you all have to listen because I never tell it twice” The school children began to nod their heads up and down and the teacher looked around ready to begin. “Now, May I?”
The waitress tapped her toe and checked her watch.
“I knew he was too good to be true,” Mary began to take out her ponytail and was ready to leave. Just then an artist with arm fulls of painting supplies stormed through the glass doors and the sound of bells went ringing through the diner.
“No, don’t,” he cried. “You always wear a ponytail when you work.”
Mary was reassured and began to put her hair back up “Remind why I agreed for you to paint me again.”
“Because,” the painter set down his supplies and attempted to set up. “You agreed to help me fulfill my dreams and need for inspiration.”
“Why me?”
“That’s just it. I want to achieve what no painter has before,” the artist was setting up his easel and trying to find the perfect angle. “I want to show the past, present, and future all at once.”
“And how?”
“Well, so many painters paint a scene, but that’s only what was going on at that moment. You're a worker, you show a constant struggle. Your character shows how hard you’ve had to work, it tells your whole past. And your eyes, your eyes are like glowing waterfalls, and they show hope. A hope that things could always be better. They show your future. And us, were here together and you're working from your past, while hoping for the future, this is the present, and you will be my masterpiece.”
Mary was awestruck, frozen with an open mouth. She struggled to form words after the sword of beauty stuck her, that which is carried by the warrior of every word that is spoken by the artist in front of her. “Well...you’re late.”
“Had to walk,” The artist laughed and took a stool closest to him and pulled it behind the easel.
“Walk, why not drive?”
“No car, no money, no even enough for the bus. This painting is basically my last chance. Now, act like you’re working.”
“Why put so much pressure on me!”
“Because, one you’re beautiful. And two, there will be a day when we’re gone, but these my paintings are forever. So one day there can still be a part or at least a little piece of me that can continue on,” the artist picked up the smallest brush and became enthralled by the scene in front of him. “Now, may I?”
“Wait… I still don’t know your name.”
The painter drop the brush and rubbed his head “Names aren’t important anyway, haven’t you ever listened to Juliet and Romeo”
Mary let out a small chuckle, “Well I have to call you something.”
“ Well, call me...” the painter looked around for the nearest object and happened to pick up a bottle of blue paint sitting near to him. “There, call me Blue”
Mary pondered the new name, “Okay fine, nice to meet you Blue. Now then, make a part of me live forever.”
Blue had done just that.
* * * * * *
14 and 14 years old: two twins walked to their mothers classroom after school. Susanne and Max Spero. Max walked in first with his blue bookbag tugging down on every step he took, Susanne followed behind. Every child they passed looked sad, every single one.
Mrs.Spero saw her brown headed boy and her blonde girl with braids enter her room, and her day became a little bit better. She became a little bit happier.
“What’s up with all of them?” Max asked sitting in a desk beside his mother.
“Oh just told them a sad story today, that’s all.” Mrs. Spero organized her papers and started grading some spelling test.
Susanne’s light voice began to speak, “well what’d you tell them?”
Mrs.Spero answered quickly still focused on the papers, “Just a story that seemed fitting at the time,” It was clear Mrs.Spero had no interest in telling her children the same story.
Max was a little upset, “You never tell us anything.”
“Yes, I do”
“Yeah, like what?”
Susanne sat down and spoke a comment that seemed uncalled for at the time. “You never tell us about dad.”
“Susanne?!” Mrs.Spero was struck. “What are going on about?”
Max added fuel to the fire. “It’s true though I don’t know anything about him,”
Mrs. Spero slammed her pen down and held her head. This bickering seemed to happen almost everyday. “If I tell you what I told the other children, will you back off?”
Max and Susanne answered at the same time. “Yes”
“Okay,” Mrs. Spero let out a great sigh, “Okay, here we go again,” she pulled the chair away from her desk and sat up. Max and Susanne have never heard a sadder story.

* * * * * *
Blue was walking through the rain on his to the diner. A furious storm has brewed up and the water droplets were battering through the artist red hair and drenching his coat. In his left hand he was gripping a metal ring, and it held a promise he was about to make. It was a year since he painted her that day. He was never more proud of his work. Mary had called and said that she had something extremely important to tell him, so tonight it would be.
The artist tread through the loud traffic, speeding cars, and lighting bolts. He saw the diner and Mary saw him as the sky screamed and yelled sounds of sharp metal. Her lovely eyes pushed out the diner and she was screaming his name. Her voice couldn’t be heard though the wrecking storm.
“Blue, blue!” she cried. She was trying to get him to approach faster as Mary couldn’t bear the thought of holding in the news she had any longer. She shouted and waved her hand frantically through the storm as the rain shot the black top and her uniform became soaked. “Blue!” She was watching him cross the street and their eyes met and their was never a moment that She felt closer to him. “Blue,” she screamed. “Blue,...I’m pregnant.”
Her voice hit him hard. Blue had not been able to make out a single word she was saying until now. He stopped dead in his tracks on the middle of the road and became frozen by her.
“Blue, you’re gonna be a father.”
The artist began to cry tears of joy and laughed all at the same time. Mary began shouting more words but he wasn’t hearing a thing. He couldn’t believe the amazing news he was hearing, all of his life had been leading up to a moment like this, now Mary and the painter would live on together, forever, and the past they’ve worked through would pay off in their future, but for now the painter was stuck in the present. He was stuck in love. Mary began sprinting towards him screaming, and he had never been so happy.
He never even heard the car that was fastly approaching through the wrecking storm. Mary’s extra shouts had been shouting for him something different.
On May 18th a drunken driver was speeding on the corner of (past) Ave. and (future). He had no intentions of slowing down and hit a 27 year old male at speeds of 60mph. After hitting the pedestrian the driver crashed into a telephone pole. Neither the Pedestrian or the driver survived. Only one witnessed the crash, a 29 year old female.

* * * * * *
A dying painter laid in her arms as she sobbed louder tears than possible. With the painter's last bit of strength he took out a metal ring and confessed his love with his dying breath.
“I love you Mary Spero,” he coughed up a little bit of blood. “ Will you marry me?”
Mary cried louder and louder, as the thunder clapped in her response.
“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
The painter lifted up his damaged arm and held out the ring, attempting to fit it on her finger. “May, I?”
Mary Spero lifted her hand as the dying painter fit her finger with the ring. She collapsed into tears on his chest. That was the last time they ever spoke.

* * * * * *
“That’s such a sad story,” Max cried, Susanne looked just as heartbroken. “Is it true that the waitress lady never knew his real name? And the painter never got to see his child? How does that even happen.”
“Children, not child, she ended up having twins. And yes Max, it’s all 100% true,” said Mary. Mary Spero.
“Now when are you going to tell us the story of our dad,” Susanne complained.
Mrs.Spero reached out and held Susanne’s hand looking her and Max in the eyes, in them she saw an old familiar painter.“I feel my children, that’s a story that you now know too well,” she took her thumb and began spinning the ring on her right hand, deep in thought. “Now then, let’s go.” Mrs.Spero rounded up her stuff and Max and Susanne were ready to go. On the way out Mary Spero looked out the window and she had saw that it had begun to rain. The common weather means something different to her now.
Every droplet tells a story. The story of the waitress. The teacher. The boy, and the daughter.
The artist. The mother, and of course their father.
For life happens very fast, and you’ll see many things will never last.