This is a very sad, romantic piece based on a dream I once had. The people mentioned are real people, though the names are changed. R & R please!

I sat in a Starbucks in that hated city, New York, New York. The city was only hated because she lived there. She was his girlfriend. His name was Zacharias Black. Her name was Allison Harrison. My name was Valerie Calhoun. Zacharias was my best friend. More than that, I was in love with him. I knew it was wrong. I knew he had a girlfriend. But can anyone help who he or she falls in love with?

I had never met Allison. Still, I hated her with a passion. I wanted to shoot that bitch. All that had happened was that she had more opportunities than me. She had met him in, believe it or not, kindergarten. She had been his girlfriend since then. I met him when I was in seventh grade. He was in sixth grade at the time. He had actually told me once that if she was not his girlfriend, I would be.

Unlike most long distance relationships, as she lived in New York and he lived in North Carolina, they still stayed a couple, never turning aside. They had started dating around sixteen and had gotten more serious as the years progressed. We were all twenty-four now. College was over, and the only reason I was in New York was to help my budding career as a lawyer. Normally, I avoided the place like hell.

Whenever I came to New York, I did not think about the wonderful landmarks or the tragedy that happened in 2001. I thought about her. I was always very distracted in New York, but I somehow managed to stick to my work. To be busy was the only way to forget. I had a day off today. I hated my days off. It gave me too much time to think. That was what I was doing now. I stared into my latte, not seeing the now cold coffee, but Zacharias' face. It was upside down though. I looked up. Zacharias stood at my table, smiling.

"Hello strange person whom I have no knowledge of," he said. I grinned. This was an ancient joke of ours.

"Hey Zacharias," I said dryly. "Sit down or do you have somewhere you have to be?"

"Actually, I came to see you. The people at work told me that this was the place you normally went," Zacharias said as he slid onto the bench opposite me.

"You came to see me?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"I need your advice," he said, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Oh please!" I moaned. "You know perfectly that well that I suck at giving advice." Secretly, I was flattered. Even just talking casually like this set me on top of the world. I was very in love. That he had come specifically to see me to my advice for something well beyond my ability to describe. That is what came of loving your best friend since you were twelve.

"You will have good advice on this topic," Zacharias said. "Valerie, I have come to ask you about jewelry." He looked around nervously. "Specifically, I came to ask you about. rings." My eyes widened. Was he going to propose to me? It was too much to ask. I did not dare hope. Perhaps I could finally throw away all those tragic love poems I liked because of our situation.

"Do you mean like. wedding rings?" I asked, a very small smile on my lips.

"Well, yes," he said, clearly a bit embarrassed.

"You are right. I actually can give good advice on this subject. Who would have thought? What exactly do you want to know?"

"What sort of jewels do girls like on their rings?"

"Well, diamonds are a must. After all, dog is man's best friend, diamond is woman's best friend. Also, you might want to find out the favorite precious stone of the lucky girl. Or, if it is you, maybe not so lucky," I teased. That was my defense for my feelings. We teased each other to death because we were afraid of feeling things too deeply. Every time he hung the phone up however, I always either threw myself on my bed and wept many and bitter tears or danced about my apartment for ages, humming, actually happy.

"Oh be quiet," he said.

"Continuing," I said in a voice that clearly said he was not to interrupt, "you need to know all the girls preferences. For example, my favorite precious stone is emeralds. I would want my husband to give me a silver ring with a large diamond in the middle and two smaller emeralds on either side." Come on, take the hint, Zacharias! "What else might be nice is if you were to put the ring inside a box of European chocolate, give the box to your love, and when she opens it and sees the ring propose to her." My eyes grew distant as I began to imagine.

"Take your love out to a very fancy and romantic dinner. Then, drive to a garden somewhere. Make sure it is one that has fountains, a few lights, but not many, and soft ones. Oh, and make sure it has flowers, or at least green leaves. Sit on a bench or the side of a just-for-decoration well, and give her the box of chocolate. Do not do the one knee thing; that is so outdated. Take both her hands in yours, look deep into her eyes, and ask her to marry you."

I came back to the present. Zacharias was looking at me, and he was actually listening to my flowery romantic ideas. It was about time! I noticed a few of the waitresses looking at me with smiles. In the time I had been in New York, I had gotten to know a lot of them, as I stopped at Starbucks every morning and night. They knew what was going on just as well as me. They also had a talent for eavesdropping.

"Would that be your ideal proposal?" Zacharias asked. I was tempted to say that if he was the one proposing, anything was ideal. But I held my tongue.

"One of many," I said instead. "You know better than anyone that I have octillions of romantic fantasies swimming around in my mind." He grinned.

"What if I wanted something a bit more casual though?" he asked. "Your ideas all seem a bit. heavy."

"Marriage is a big step. The proposal is supposed to be 'heavy.' Guys do not understand that girls love complicated things and they do not want something like this to be like asking them to a date. They want it to be something that they will remember for the rest of their lives. They want something wonderful and magical."

Poor Zacharias did not get it. For all the time I had known him, he had always been more of the casual sort when it came to romance. Even at a young age, I was very serious about my romances. However this time, Zacharias seemed to be understanding. He was nodding some and he looked interested.

"Would it be too obvious if I just went up to her and asked what her favorite precious stone is?" he asked. So he had decided to not show so much that it might possibly be me. That was fine.

"No," I said firmly. "She could think it is for any occasion- birthday, celebration, even just a happy middle-of-the-week day. Girls love surprises, anytime, and she will think you are just planning to buy her a little surprise gift."

"Thank you so much Valerie. I knew I could trust you. You are my best friend, and I knew you would be the best to ask about this." He got up, preparing to go.

"If I may ask," I stopped him, "who is the girl?"

"I believe that I am finally ready to settle down with Allison instead of just being her very serious boyfriend. I figured you would not mind if I came to you for advice about how girls are with proposals. You are an awesome friend, Val."

"No worries," I said cheerfully. "Come to me any time!" He grinned one last time and left. I watched him walk down the street and around a corner, out of my sight. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks.

"Here," a voice broke into my thoughts. "One of the waitresses put a fresh latte down on my table. "This is on us." I gave her a grateful look and gulped the hot liquid down, as though it could wash the pain away.

I left the Starbucks soon after and wandered the streets of New York, not really paying attention to where I was going. A hearse, along with the rest of the funeral party, passed, driving black cars slowly down the road. Other pedestrians turned aside and did not look at the sight. I stood on the sidewalk and stared directly at the hearse. The driver looked directly at me as he passed. It was fitting. My soul died in Starbucks on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.

I felt isolated from everyone else. As I walked, it seemed as though I was in a little universe all my own. Everyone lived normal lives. They walked about on their business. I strode through them, knowing on an instinctive level that I was not one of them. Strangely, my eyes seemed to have absorbed the tears. I could not cry.

The sky became overcast and the wind blew harder. I walked faster, ignoring the people who were dashing for shelter from the incoming storm. The wind blew my hair back, away from my face. People took one look at me and stepped out of my way. People can sense a dead woman.

Without warning, the rain began to fall. First it was a few fat drops, but that quickly turned into a deluge that no one could see anything in. I walked still completely soaked and freezing, but it felt good. The cold and the wet gave me something to concentrate on besides the sharp emotional pain. It was eating away at me, from the inside out.

Suddenly, I stopped. In the middle of the sidewalk during a great rainstorm, I looked at my right wrist. There, standing out unusually sharply, were a few bright pink scars. Those were places where I cut my wrists, back ages ago. They looked absolutely beautiful now. I traced the raised lines with a finger, and smiled bitterly.

Allison could never love Zacharias as I did. No one would see it, but it was true. There were not words to express the magnitude of my love towards him. I would attend the wedding, and I would smile, and I would toast the groom and bride. I would be godmother to their children, and come over for dinner. I would talk with them, and I would laugh.

I would do all of this while dying. Though I might wish to have Zacharias for my self, just being his best friend was what would make him happy. All I wanted was his happiness. To see him smile was like winning the lottery. I needed to know that his life was wonderful. His life would not be so good if he knew how miserable I was, because he would worry about me. He loved Allison, and I could not take their love away.

Alone in my room, after the parties and after the wine, I would sob into my pillow. He would not, could not, ever know of my secret existence. The sun would shine on his world, while I carried invisible rain clouds. I would always be there for him, though he could never truly see me.