| very, very short story...like it or hate it?
Posted: 6/24/2006 5:16:43 PM | FLUORESCENCE
On the 16th floor. It was getting later in the evening, he’d said he’d meet her about 7:25. He wanted to be early. He’d driven to meet her, after a quick rinse in the shower, a quick decision in the closet, and a quick stop by the convenience store. He’d bought Bud Lite Ice, because the higher alcohol content might lighten the mood more quickly. He’d expected her call, but wasn’t really sure that he was ready for it. When it came, and they decided on a place that would be (at last) private, he’d hesitated. He had no idea why.
He parked in the garage, and hurriedly grabbed the cooler of cold beer and a snack bag, some jerky, some peanuts...at least with him, some things never changed. A sprightly pace through the garage, to the security area. Harsh fluorescent light beat down on the guard behind the security desk, making a weary face grey. His dark skin was the color of ash. The guard's eyebrows arched as he took in the cooler, the unkempt hair, the worse for the wear jeans and the black t-shirt.
"People working later and later these days," delivered in a dry, amused tone.
"Um, I'm offering a little moral support to the hardworkin'. No one should be alone on a Friday night."
The guard smiled knowingly, and pointed to the sign-in sheet. The man filled out the correct little blanks, and was given leave to the elevator. He stepped in, and as the doors closed, searched vainly (literally) for a reflective surface. But the brushed aluminum and glaring fluorescent light offered no clear view, only an pallid outline. A gentle chime, he had arrived, and stepped out into a darkened hallway. To the left, the office where was dark through the full pane glass doors. He stood watching for a moment, wondering if she would come into view. The moment passed, and he stepped to the doors. Rapping lightly against the glass, waiting. He saw her slip through the glare of the office lights into the darkened reception area, saw the silhouette of her body as she came closer, her face hidden in shadow. A click of the lock, an opening door, and a rush of sterile, light-washed air from inside the office swept over him. He experienced the smallest of shivers, whether of delight, despair, or nerves, he hadn't the foggiest. And then a soft, gentle hand took his, and she took him in.
She walked slowly down the hall, and he followed (somewhat docilely) into her office, cooler bumping against his knees while he appreciated the view. Unrelenting white light blazed from the ceiling as she moved to her desk to retrieve a scented candle. He hadn't worn his glasses, thinking he might look more youthful without them. Regrettably, between the light and his lack of sight, he couldn't seem to focus clearly on her, almost felt that he didn't even know her.
"Can we turn down these lights just a bit? I think I'm going blind."
"You were always one for the dark, weren't you?", he heard, and the smile behind the voice .
And now they sat together, bathed in the glow of a city gone wild with light, and a sky bright with stars, clouds and cars above and below, streaming like ribbons of night and light.
The lights born of a city alive caressed her face (which he loved), and shadows played around her every movement, reminding him. Of where he was, of where he’d been.
And how she was.
They talked of small things, and of things larger, some that swelled with love, some that shriveled with rancor. Yet though he couldn’t see her clearly, he thought he saw a hint of promise in her eyes. And her voice was the voice of glories past, and futures unseen. As that ambient light from the city shone on her, she seemed almost transparent, a ghost, dressed in soft white silk and black slacks, shoes kicked off, hovering on the edge of real and not-real.
Though they knew each other well, and had touched each other many times, they sat apart now. They spoke of the lives they were living, of the lives they might be living one day. And as they talked, he began to realize why she had asked him here, what she was doing...
When he had lost her, he had forgotten her as best as a mind can, but we all know that the heart cannot. When he had found her again, he treasured her, but could not gain her. And now as he spoke to her, he realized...she was no longer there. And had not been for a long, long time.
A white hot light burst into his eyes, and beer spilled onto his lap and the carpet of the conference room. Manny the custodian stood with his finger still on the switch, gazing quizically at the lone man in the room, sitting at the table with two opened beers, an empty chair beside him, his coke-bottle glasses on the desk next to him. Manny had never seen him without them on, and he looked somehow different.
"You okay, Mr. Holliman?"
"Hell, Manny, you scared the crap out of me. Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just tying up some loose ends."
Manny looked doubtfully at him when the man said, "Manny, the office is clean enough, don't worry about it tonight, huh? I'll let them know I said it was okay."
"Well, if you say so, Mr. Holliman. I don't want to get in no trouble, though. You'll tell'em?"
"I'll tell'em, Manny, don't worry."
Manny shrugged, and made to withdraw, when the man said, "Manny? Do me a favor...turn out those lights."
The custodian left, closing the door softly behind him, and shaking his head.
In the conference room, again softly lit by the moving lights of a writhing city, a soft, gentle hand took his, and she took him again. | |
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