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At the end of a railroad line, there is a bar called the Road to Hell. It has a way of slipping through the cracks of time, along with its patrons. It is there where two people meet, time and time again.
Sia had been waiting tables at Dakkar’s speakeasy for years. She knew all the regulars, where they liked to sit, even who they liked to end the night with in some cases.
No one came to the Road to Hell without an invitation, at least the first time. After that, customers could come and go as they pleased. Of course, Dakkar handed out invitations often, but not carelessly. His guests were always there for a reason, which he usually told Sia of before they arrived.
When Sia spotted an unfamiliar face without warning, she was instantly shocked and curious. Sia had been on her way to take a different table’s order, so she could not stare at the woman for long. When she got the chance, she slid over to the bar where Dakkar held court.
“Dakkar, who’s that woman?”
Dakkar kept his gaze focused on what he was making — a Morning Radiance, one of their specialities — but he said, ”Which woman are you talking about? Many are currently in this establishment.”
Sia rolled her eyes. “You know who I’m talking about. The woman at table seven. The one I’ve never seen before that you didn’t warn me about.”
That made Dakkar look up. “There’s no one at table seven.”
“Yes, there is.”
“There wasn’t when I passed by ten minutes ago.” Dakkar glanced at the clock as if it would bless him with answers.
“There is now! Dakkar, who is she?”
Sia’s question went unanswered as Dakkar mumbled that it was too early, whatever that meant. He handed Sia the finished Morning Radiance. “Bring that to table one.”
As he walked off towards table seven, and the woman that sat there. Sia unfortunately did have a job to do, so she gave table one their drink and kept waiting tables. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at the woman. Her dark hair was placed in a low bun, with ringlets of fallen hair framing her face. She wore rouge on her cheeks and lips that shone in the dim light.
Dakkar stayed at her table for over an hour, just talking with her. At one point, the woman laughed, leaning backward in her chair. Her laugh sounded like a song Sia had heard before, but could not place. Finally, toward the end of Sia’s shift, Dakkar stood up from the table, walking back to the bar and beckoning Sia over. Sia rushed up to the bar, leaning into Dakkar to hear him speak over the bustle of the bar.
“The woman at table seven is my sister.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister!”
Dakkar shrugged. “It’s not a detail about myself I make prominently known.” He paused, leaning into Sia and meeting her ear over the bar. “I’ve seen you glancing at her the whole shift. You want to talk to her?”
Sia blushed, her cheeks turning a violent crimson. “Yes.”
Dakkar nodded and Sia turned away from him. Before she had taken two steps, however, he added, “Sia?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t come on too strong.”
Sia started the journey to table seven, to the woman there, her name still unknown to Sia. She reached the table and locked eyes with the woman, who smiled. At that moment, Sia didn’t know what came over her, what possessed her, but words were pulled out of her mouth like she had said them a hundred times before.
“Come home with me.”
The woman blinked.
“Who are you?”
Sia hesitated, realizing the words that had come out of her mouth. She felt a flutter in her rib cage, the rapid beating of her heart. She opened her mouth to stammer out an apology, but instead said. “The woman who is going to marry you. I’m Sia.”
The woman laughed at her forwardness. “Margaret.”
“Your name is like a melody.” Sia spoke the words with a harmonious lilt and with care, like it was a line from her favorite song.
Margaret hummed. “A singer? Is that what you are?”
“Sometimes I wait tables here. I also play the lyre.”
“Oh, a liar and a player too! I’ve met too many people like you.”
Dakkar, who had wandered over at some point during the conversation, without Sia’s knowledge, said, “Sia’s not like anyone you’ve met.”
“Like you would know.” Margaret retorted.
Dakkar tilted his head at Sia. “Tell her what you’re working on.”
“I’m working on a song,” Sia said to Margaret, who mockingly leaned forward, showing her intent listening. Her eyes shined with amusement, and something akin to infatuation.
“It isn’t finished yet, but when it’s done and when I sing it, spring will come again.”
“Come again?”
“Spring will come again.”
“When? I haven’t seen a spring or fall since… well, I can’t recall.”
Sia smiled enthusiastically. “That’s what I’m working on! A song to fix what’s wrong. Take what’s broken and make it whole. A song so beautiful, it brings the world back into tune and back into time, and all the flowers will bloom. When you become my wife.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Oh, you must be crazy! Why would I become your wife?”
Dakkar, still lingering by the table, answered her. “Because she can make you feel alive.”
Dakkar had seen how this story played out many times before. He knew what to say, as if it was scripted, and he knew that Sia did always make Margaret light up.
“Alive?” Sia asked. “That’s worth a lot. What else do you have?”
Margaret stood up from her chair and moved to the other side of the table to face Sia. “Lover, tell me, if you can, who’s going to buy the wedding bands? Times being what they are, hard and getting harder all the time.”
Sia leaned into Margaret, their lips so close they almost touched, but Sia pulled back before they could.
“Lover, when I sing my song, all the rivers are going to sing along. And they’re going to break their banks for us, and with their gold be generous. All flashing in the pan, all to fashion for your hand.”
At that, Sia reached out for Margaret’s hand and placed a soft kiss on it, making Margaret grin. “The river’s going to give us the wedding bands.”
Margaret, still smiling, jumped onto the table that was between the two of them. Dakkar tried to shoo her off to no avail as Margaret reached her back out to Sia, prompting her onto the table. Sia took Margaret’s hand and was lifted up onto it.
“This doesn’t mean I’m saying yes.” Margaret whispered.
“Oh, I know.” Sia smirked.
“Lover, tell me, if you’re able, who’s going to lay the wedding table? Times being what they are, dark and getting darker all the time.”
“Lover, when I sing my song, all the trees are going to sing along. And they’re going to bend their branches down to lay their fruit upon the ground. The almond and the apple and the sugar from the maple.” Sia spun Margaret around. “The trees are going to lay the wedding table.”
Dakkar, frustrated with their antics, tapped at their ankles. “This is great and all, but maybe sit at the table instead of standing on it? People eat here.”
Sia immediately said, “Sorry, Dakkar,” while Margaret just laughed and jumped off, bringing Sia with her. Margaret went and pulled a chair out from the table for Sia to sit, and when she did, Margaret sat in the chair directly facing her.
“So, when you sing your song,” Margaret started, “the one you’re working on, spring will come again?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you sing it then?”
Sia glanced away. “It isn’t finished.”
“Sing it!” Margaret pressed, before pulling her sweater off her shoulder ever so slightly, showing the barest hint of skin. “You want to take me home?”
Sia nodded her head furiously. Why were her lips so dry all of a sudden?
“Sing the song.” Margaret said once more.
Sia sighed, but relented. Although he did not have it a minute before, Dakkar handed her her guitar. She had saved up for a while to get it, and ever since, she brought it everywhere with her.
Sia readied herself, and strummed the guitar. The melody that started playing was magical. It sounded like a spring day, and blooming flowers, and plains of grass, and sunshine, and laughter. As Sia sang, the ground parted, and from it a flower bloomed. It was a white ipomoea, glistening in unseen moonlight. Margaret gasped at the feat and at the fact that Sia had unknowingly created Margaret’s favorite flower. As the song came to its end, Margaret felt tears streaming down her face, which she quickly wiped away.
“How did you do that?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know. The song’s not finished yet.”
Margaret plucked the flower from the ground. “But even so, it can do this? You have to finish it.
“Lover, tell me, when we’re wed, who’s going to make the wedding bed? Times being what they are, hard and getting harder all the time.”
“Lover, when I sing my song all the birds are going to sing along. And they will come flying from all around to lay their feathers on the ground. And we’ll lie down in eiderdown, a pillow beneath our heads. The birds are going to make the wedding bed.”
“And the trees are going to lay the wedding table.” Margaret responded, leaning into Sia.
“And the river’s going to give us the wedding bands.” Sia leaned forward in response.
Once again, their lips almost met, but this time, instead of pulling away, Sia leaned in fully. Their lips met in a warm, passionate embrace, and the moment froze in time. In that moment, everything was perfect. It would stay that way as long as the moment stayed.
However, all stories must continue.