Eli Krauss & the Starry Eyed Girl

There is an ancient sadness to lost love.

Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal when his third wife died after giving birth. He built it as her resting place, built it out of grief. It is a white domed monstrosity of woeful agony, a beautiful and majestic edifice that is the remnant of one man’s love for one woman.

Eli Krauss stares up at the tavern on the corner of the street. It has peeling emerald green paint and an overall droopy existence. The once gold lettering that reads HOME across the top of the crowning is now scratched away from rain and the miserable but consistent wear of time.

And this is his Taj Mahal. This is his last remnant of his love for her. For his Rachel, with the long brown hair and eyes. For his Rachel, with the engagement ring on her hand. For his Rachel, the one who had taken a walk in the morning and never come back.

His Rachel, who was dead and buried in the Olden Cemetary.

_____

Eli Krauss walks across the street. His face is scratchy because of the unintentional beard that creeps on his fair skin. He walks with one of his hands in his jean pocket and another holding a cigarette to his lips. The contractor is waiting for him in front of HOME. He has a clipboard at his side and a tired look on his face.

“Eli, there’s a ton of shit to fix in here if you want to get the place running by fall,” he states and scratches his stubbly chin. His name is Ralph and he has the look of a modern day caveman, sturdy and strong with an aura of brutish manliness.

Eli looks at him for a long second before muttering, “Just get it done, okay?” in a quiet voice, also accompanied by a cloud of smoke from his lips.

Ralph looks at his boss for a few seconds and then shakes his head, “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, but okay. We’ll do it.”

HOME had always been Rachel’s idea. And she’s gone now, but Eli continues with the idea. He bought the rundown pub the week after she had been hit by the car and the day after her funeral. It was an excuse to quit his job at the marketing agency he worked at. It was a chance to live through Rachel’s idea. When he stands in the middle of the decaying space, he feels like she could be there too, saying all of the things that he would never say.

“Oh Eli. This is going to be wonderful, so wonderful. Can you imagine the memories we are going to make?”

Yes. She would say something like that, Eli decides silently.

Ralph watches him stand in the middle of the dilapidated bar again and has that curious feeling of having seen someone do something sacred and private.

Eli finishes his cigarette and flicks it down under his shoe.

“Here you go, Rachel,” he whispers and walks out, leaving Ralph to fix the empty shell of architecture that holds one man’s love for one woman.