I wondered if she meant that I would not find what I was seeking with her, or in this bar, but realized that it did not much matter. Even though she was still not looking at me, I nodded and got up slowly from the booth, then leaned my hands on the table and asked, "And what is it you seek, Betty?" The name just slipped out, but I could have sworn that the corners of her full lips turned up, every so slightly, as a smile started to form, but never quite appeared. "Is it power for you," I continued, "or happiness, or love?"

She raised her head toward me, but I could tell that she was looking beyond me, beyond even the interior of the bar, to a place only she could know. "I have had power," she sighed, softly. "Not absolute power, of course, but what I had was more than enough for me to be satisfied with. Or, so I thought."

I could not see her eyes, but I somehow knew that they were now closed, and she was reliving a time and place most people could only dream of.

"Happiness as well came with that power, at least for a time," she went on, her voice becoming even softer, lost in the memories of her past. "Love too, came, following the happiness, but it was not true love. I thought it was at the time, of course, as people in their youth always will, and so I gave up what little power I had for what I perceived was true love. But, after the power was gone, I eventually ended up losing my happiness, and the love, as well." She was nearly whispering now and I had to lean closer to her in order to hear clearly. "I realized too late that I 'had' experienced true love one time, many years before, but had willingly given it up for the mere chance of possibly obtaining that small amount of power, along with a bit of short lived happiness." She sighed, again, and added, "I have never found true love again, and doubt if I ever will."

Then she looked directly at me and a slight, sad smile graced her face. "Peace of mind sounds like an excellent choice right about now, Matthew. I hope you find it. Perhaps we both will." After that, she lowered her head, her gaze resting on the nearly empty glass, and for a brief instant I once again heard the faint sound of crystal chimes on a distant breeze, fading, then gone.

I stood and smiled down at her for a few seconds, then turned and made my way slowly back to the bar. From the jukebox, U2 was bemoaning the fact that they still hadn't found what they were looking for. As I climbed onto my stool, several of the regulars locked eyes with me for a moment, and I could see the knowledge of mutual desperation in their intense gaze. Had Betty asked the same question of them? Had they failed to answer her? I certainly was not about to share any of our conversation--I felt extremely protective of what had passed between us--and thus far, no one had indicated a willingness to discuss their own attempt at discourse with her. So, it ended there--with silence and the sigh of love, forever lost.