Nano Day 9 - Working Title: Cantata

[joegoda]

Wells drove the distance home, eyes constantly shifting mirrors to see if he was followed. In the past eight years, he had taken only three personal days off. He had taken three days vacations, generally a Friday and the weekend, but those were very few and very far between. His last vacation was a year and a half ago, when his younger brother passed away.

He stood in the back of the chapel in his hometown and shed a few tears of grief. Nobody there knew who he was, as he had been gone for over forty years. The name he was using wouldn't have been recognized anyway. It was one of the very few times he had thought about giving the job up, completely. Turning his back on the company and just walking away. He could claim his old name, his birth name, since he had gone though so many that it didn't matter any more. He could show up, the prodigal son returned, buy some land and set up that farm he had dreamed of having.

He knew, though, that nobody leaves the company, completely. They 'retire'. In order for him to retire, he'd have to be shaking hands with his brother, far beyond the pale vale. At the funeral service, he smiled grimly at the thought of playing cards, just his brother and him. He could see the wide-open friendly face of his brother and could hear his brother's voice ask, "Well? Did you at least have fun?"

There were no cars following him, nothing suspicious, which made him instantly cautious. Leaving work early generally raised a red flag somewhere. When he got to his apartment, instead of pulling into his usual parking spot, he went around back, locked his car, armed it, and walked through the complex to his home. Ears and eyes alive and watching, he unlocked his door and checked to see if the straw had fallen. It had not.

He went in, and leaving the lights off, stripped on the way to the bathroom. Still in the dark, he brushed his teeth while he waited for the shower water to warm up. He took a long shower, letting the warmth of the water run off him. He felt his muscles loosening and the tension draining away with the water.

He left the bathroom, and checked the time that was registering on the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table. Eleven seventeen, it read. "Elevens and Sevens. Must be my lucky day." He set the alarm for two o'clock and lay down to nap. This time, sleep came very quickly.

The jangle of the alarm woke him and he sat straight up. Still leaving the lights off, he quickly dressed and went to his desk phone. He called a cab company to pick him up at a location, a donut shop, about half a mile away. It would be twenty minutes, he was told. "That's fine," he replied, hanging up.

Wells checked himself in the mirror. He looked pretty bad, overall. He ran a brush through his remaining, hair, shaved quickly with his electric shaver, straightened his tie and looked again.

He sighed. "Well, if I doubt if it can get much better than this," he said, "or much worse". He stowed his shaver and quickly exited his apartment.

He started back through his apartment complex, and made a sudden right turn halfway through it. He followed the stone path past the swimming pool, past the unused tennis court, and cut between two buildings. He cautiously climbed a chain link fence, terribly upsetting the dog next door, and discreetly ran through the back yard of a house he did not know. He was very glad it was a workday and most normal people were not at home.

Once in the street again, he turned south, and walked to the end of the cul-de-sac. Again, he went through an unfamiliar back yard, only to be stopped by a tall wooden fence. He wasn't stopped long. He knew this town, and this neighborhood. If there was a wooden fence nearby, it was old, it was more than likely rotted and the nails would be either gone or mostly rusted and headed that direction.

He walked along the fencerow, knocking on each of the pickets to see what answer they would give him. Surprisingly, a number of them were fairly sound. There were two, near the far corner of the yard, which gave away with a telltale thunk and turned a bit on their remaining nail.

"Thank God kids never change," he muttered. He swiveled the boards away from each other and shimmied though the gap. He was exactly where he expected to be, in the back parking lot of a diner, not far from the donut shop.

Brushing off his trousers, straightening his tie, he walked calmly around the back of the diner to the adjacent road. Turning south, yet again, he continued the three blocks to the donut shop, went in, bought a cup of coffee and waited.

Three minutes later, a City Cab pulled up. The driver was a woman, blonde-haired person haired and big boned. "Where to?" she asked.

"The Central Post office, please." Wells checked his watch. It was two-thirty. "And no hurry."

It was a long trip to the post office, nearly twenty miles, and the cab driver was taking the scenic route. Still and all, it was worthwhile to not feel the need to be looking over his shoulder, to let someone else take the wheel for a while.

"Been in town long?" the driver asked.

"No," Wells answered quickly from the back. "Why do you ask?"

"You just don't look like a townie," she answered. "Wearing a tie and all, I figure you were in for a convention or something."

"Yeah," he answered, "I just flew in last night. Flying out again tonight."

"How'd you manage to get yourself stranded?" she asked.

He paused what he felt was a normal amount of time before answering; "Stupid rental car crapped out on me. Gonna give the rental company a piece of my mind when I get back to the hotel."

"Should have taken a taxi," she said. "Those rental companies will rip you off six ways to Sunday. Next time you're in town, give us a call." She reached down, pulled something from the seat next to her and handed him a business card. 'City Taxi', it read. Its slogan was "We get you there."

"You seem pretty chipper for a guy that got stiffed with a lemon," she observed.

"Well, it must be the company I keep. See, I'm meeting a long lost love, and I gotta tell you, it's just got me all... well, you know."

"Awww, that's sweet," she said, flashing him her eyes in the rear view mirror. "How long has it been?"

"Too long," he said. "Way too long. Half my life."

"Want my advice?" she asked.

"Sure!" he said, smiling.

"Get her flowers," she advised. "Always warms up a heart that is already warmed, and unfreezes a heart that might need a jumpstart. There's a florist on the way, if you want."

"What ever you say...," Wells looked at the badge hanging on the back of the front seat, "Sharon. Let's do flowers."

She flashed him not only her eyes, but also a big, bright smile. "There you go! Can't lose with flowers, and it'll make sure you aren't stiffed with a second lemon, if you know what I mean."

The cab driver took him to the florist on the way and waited while he shopped. He came out with a dozen white roses, and when he got in the cab, she whistled appreciatively. "Must have cost a pretty penny there, chum," she said.

"She's worth it, Sharon," he said.

She glanced into the mirror again and asked, "You do know the meaning of white roses, don't you?"

"Yes," he nodded, "I do."

"Good man," she said approvingly. "Purity and chastity." She chuckled. "Of course, if that's you, Mister Purity and Chastity, I'd be surprised. You are a man, after all."

Wells chuckled with her, but didn't reply.

"Purity and chastity, untarnished love." She sighed. "Wish that moron I was married to would be that way with me."

"You never know, Sharon," Wells said. "People grow and change. I'm sure he still loves you as much as he ever did. It might be that the love has grown and changed too."

"That's just because you don't know Mikey," Sharon said. "Well, I guess he does, it's just that he doesn't show it as much." She sighed again. "Anyway, you don't want to hear about my problems! You have a long lost love to meet, and that's just damned romantic if you ask me."

"I hope she feels the same," Wells said sincerely.

"Mister," Sharon advised, "give her those roses, get down on your knees and hand her the moon. I promise you that she'll feel the same." She winked in the mirror. "We women are suckers for that sorta stuff."

The cab pulled up in front of the tall grey marble building that was the Central Post office. Long steps led up to the Greco-Roman architecture of the three-story building. The sun had come out; causing the columns on the portcullis to cast long shadows and the entire scene looked as if it could have been on a post card in Rome. Memories flashed through Wells' mind and he sighed. He sat in the cab, hand on the door handle, reliving long ago and far away.

"Come on now," Sharon chided. "Screw your courage to the sticking post. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself and all that crap." Her smile shone back at him.

"What do I owe you, Sharon?" Wells asked.

"Twenty-two fifty," she said. "It would have been closer to forty, but seeing as how it's a special occasion and all..." she let the words finish themselves.

Wells handed her a fifty-dollar bill. She said, "Do you have anything smaller?"

"Oh no, Sharon," Wells protested. "That's all for you, really. For the ride and the advice. Okay? You take the tip and take Mikey out and have him buy you something nice, okay?"

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest...," she said, accepting the bill. Wells opened the door and stepped out, carrying the flowers. Sharon rolled down her window. "Don't forget what I said. Give her the moon!" She waved and drove away.

Wells checked his watch. It was two-fifty. His mind clicked as he started to see coincidences. Twenty-two fifty. Two-fifty. Two boards on a fencerow. Elevens and sevens. "I have no idea what it all means," he said.

He looked up from the street at the imposing structure of the Post Office. His stomach was doing back flips and the butterflies that had already been there were walking the high wires. He could feel his palms sweating and he wiped them on his trousers.

"Why is it that climbing these steps should make me more nervous than any takedown I've ever done?" He knew the answer, of course. Taking a deep breath, he climbed the steps, passed under the shadows formed by the columns and went inside.

Scanning the people that were already there, and not seeing any sort of threat at all, almost relaxed him. It seemed that his shoulders were in a constant knot from always having to be aware and on guard. How odd that this place, a government installation should actually find him relaxing.

"Maybe it's because it's like a library," he observed aloud. He loved libraries with their hushed and reverent tones. People moved quietly and with purpose in a library, even if they were simply browsing. People in a post office moved the same way, though there was a bit more frustration on their faces.

He looked for the parcel pick-up window. It was down the wall to the right, past the stamp vending machines and the kiosks to calculate the weight and cost of shipping parcels. Wells started to walk that direction, and then paused, frozen in his spot.

Partially hidden behind the crowd that stood in line to pick up their deliveries was a woman. Her back was to him, as she was intent on examining the wanted posters on the far wall. Her hair was dark brown and contained a streak of white. There was plenty of gray there, as well, and it created an almost ethereal translucent quality to the color.

She was a slender woman, seen from the back, wearing an orange cashmere sweater pulled over tan slacks. Her shoes were tan flats, sensible and made for walking. Her shoulders were still incredible, wide, and yet very feminine at the same time. She still had a waist, he saw, though not as small as it once was.

He felt his pulse increase and the world spun once, twice, thrice. He leaned against the wall and thought to himself, "Snap out of it! You aren't twelve. Christ, you're fifty-two!" He pinched the flesh between thumb and forefinger of his left hand. The nerve bundle there can bring about intense pain, but it can also sooth and calm. The world righted itself and he walked towards her.

She heard someone coming up behind her, and his breath caught as she turned. The same face, open and full smiling at a private joke that only she could understand. Her hair was parted in the middle and flowed down and around her ears, curled gently at the ends. Brown eyes widened in recognition and the smile, which had been a secret Mona Lisa smile, broadened until it was engulfed in a laugh. She ran... no, he would recall later, she floated the short distance between them. She would recall the scene a bit differently, and would remind him that it was instead he who ran like a lumbering love-struck baboon towards her, as she would never do such a childish thing.

The two met somewhere in the middle of their later remembrances and clung to each other as if life rafts amidst an ocean of hurt, pain and darkness. Tears sprang easily to two pair of eyes and not a word was spoken aloud. Universes crumbled and stars burned out before they released each other.

Wells held her at arms length; just stargazing and Laura did the same to him.

"Knight to Queen's Pawn," said he.

"Queen takes Knight," said she.

And they laughed together, melting years away and restoring youth, bringing what was old and dusty to be new and just unwrapped. Down the hall, people were watching them, smiling, affected by the unabashed show of affection, the childlike abandonment of two old lovers meeting once more. Some laughed, and some of the more romantically inclined even clapped their hands. One commented, "Is there a movie being filmed?"

When their breathing had eased back to close to normal, Laura noticed the flowers in Wells hand. "And what did you bring me, Sir Knight?" she asked.

Wells, remembering Sharon's advice, dropped to one knee and said, "Milady, I bring you the moon."

And that did bring applause.