Saturday, September 28, 2019

Màu nền
Font chữ
Font size
Chiều cao dòng

Dear John,

Today I introduced you to my best friend, Michelle. As you might have expected, it was a little awkward considering you're dead.

"Jeez, Lee, I didn't know you were at a funeral," she said, hunching over her tea and staring at it with some determination. "I was all ready to give you shit about standing me up yesterday, and then you go and tell me it was for a funeral. Now I just feel like an ass." She dipped down farther, breathing in the steam rising from her cup. The autumn winds blew across our little cafe table, sending a shiver over Michelle, yet she still refrained from sipping the hot brew before her.

"It's okay, I should have told you." I stared out towards the bay. Boats bobbed against the docks and wealthy yachtsmen lounged upon their decks beneath large, colorful umbrellas. They never headed into the bay. Instead, they remained a gallery piece to be pointed at and appreciated by wandering tourists and suburban couples.

You always had a nice suit on, and a briefcase that smelled like polished leather. Perhaps you owned a boat out in the harbor, too.

"That's right," said Michelle, her voice perking up as she settled herself back into her wrought-iron chair. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Her tone brimmed with her natural inclination towards agitation, but I saw compassion in her wide brown eyes and concern bending her plucked brow.

"It was hard, okay? I told my boss I was at the doctor's. No one but you know I went."

Michelle gave a slight smirk. Not because she found any joy in my embarrassment — I don't want to give you the wrong impression — but because, like a big sister, she enjoyed hearing her value.

"Alright, I'm sorry." She released a small sigh and sipped her tea, grimacing at the mellow taste and looking longingly towards my untouched coffee. "Can you at least tell me who it was?"

"It...it was someone I knew from work," I said, my words stumbling out of my mouth. Please don't think little of me for not being more forthright about you. I just knew people wouldn't understand why you meant so much to me.

"That's rough," said Michelle, who leaned back and stretched her feet out onto the sidewalk. She then reclined her head against the hard edge of the cafe chair and looked up to the crisp blue sky, where the gulls circled the bustling plaza. "Was it one of the other assistants?"

I simply muttered no and then contemplated the cooling coffee before me.

"One of the associates then?" She glanced back down, watching me with a curious gaze. Again, I gave her a negative response. Then she screwed her face up, combing through her paltry knowledge of law firms. "A mail clerk?"

"No, it was no one at Blakeman." I felt a bit of color flooding my cheeks, and I turned my eyes back to the bay. I wouldn't throw my worst enemy in those waters, but the conversation and the guilt I felt over concealing you made me debate taking a plunge for a mere second. A shudder crawled up my spine, and I soon turned back to face the inquisitive Michelle.

She paused, straightening her back and cocking her head to the side. "Well, uh, I'm sorry to ask, but who exactly is it that died then?"

"A guy I knew." My lips struggled with the words and each time I attempted to admit the truth, I ended up sputtering and choking on my words.

Why is it so hard to admit? You were just a guy I knew. It's as simple as that. But, yet you were also so much more.

"He's just... this guy..."

"Oh," said Michelle. She drew the word out with some dawning realization. She hunched forward, drawing close, before placing her hands upon the table and interlacing her fingers. "You didn't tell me you were seeing someone," she whispered.

"What? No," I gasped. I shook my head, terrified I had just besmirched your memory by linking a handsome, successful man like yourself with a plain nobody that spends her day making coffee for lawyers who still thought her name was Bethany instead of Bailey.

"Lee, it's okay," said Michelle with a nervous laugh. "I just thought maybe you were being all secretive because you liked the guy. I know relationships are hard for you."

"Sorry," I replied with an attempt at a smile. I know you already know this, since you saw my lips curl upwards on a regular basis, but smiles never feel comfortable on my face. Not like you.

You had the smile of a model or an actor or a politician. It was effortless and friendly. And that's what you were to me — friendly. You were always genial towards me even though you were also well-groomed, strong, and rugged. Everything I imagined most women would find attractive. Me, though, it was just intimidating. Not that I blame you, of course. I know you weren't trying to frighten me. It's just...the first day I met you, I desperately tried to blend in with the laminate wood paneling of the elevator.

Do you remember that day? Probably not. I'm sure it was inconsequential for you, but for me, it's burned into my memory.

I'd been working at Blakeman & Associates for three months and never once crossed your path. Or at least, if we shared the elevator, there were too many other occupants, and I never took notice. But I was running late that day and just barely squeezed in before the doors closed.

"Rough start, huh?" you asked.

I was bent over with exhaustion, so I hadn't noticed anyone else was in the elevator. In fact, in that moment, I thought my inner voice had taken on a hearty male tone.

"Yes," I said, raising my eyes, hoping to glimpse someone other than myself. That's when I saw you reflected in the tarnished bronze of the elevator doors. You had a sloping jaw and a thick chin. Your eyes were small when you smiled, your grin stretching across your face and raising your cheeks. You wore a sharp black suit, but no tie. Instead, you opted for a pin-striped shirt with the top button unfastened.

I then became painfully aware that my current posture, with my hands on my knees and my shoulders hunched over, left my posterior in full view and thus presented me in a rather poor light. So I snapped myself up and threw my back against the nearest wall.

"Floor?"

"What?" I stuttered. I felt the red on my cheeks and silently cursed my decision to wear a skirt that day.

"Which floor are you going to? You never hit a button?" You chuckled and pointed to the panel with only one floor number lit, floor ten.

"Oh, sorry." I punched the twelve and felt grateful that we had only climbed up to five.

"Blakeman then. You an associate?"

"No," I replied, sending my eyes to the floor, "just an assistant for Tillman."

"Ah, haven't met him." You bounced on the balls of your feet as we ascended past eight and nine. Sometimes you looked ready to rekindle the conversation, but instead, you ended up flashing that patented smile. "Well, I hope the rest of your day goes better," you said as the doors popped open for your floor.

I gave you a curt nod as you strode out into your office space and towards a desk beyond my view.

"He's just a guy I saw a few times," I finally told Michelle, "but he was always really nice and it just didn't seem right that he had to die." I buried my hands in my lap, drawing my feet beneath my chair and leaning over my coffee. The hazelnut still curled up and swept across my nose, but the autumn chill rendered it too icy to drink at this point.

"Did he have a name?" said Michelle with a smirk. "Doesn't seem right to call him 'just a guy' if he meant that much."

"John Martin at the Berger and Smith Company." I paused to watch how the sun glittered in my coffee. "He never told me what he did, but apparently he was an usability analyst. Whatever that is. I've been meaning to look up the company to see what they do."

"Well," began Michelle as she pulled her chair around to my side of the table, the metal feet jarring across the weathered stone of the sidewalk, "I'm sorry for your loss." She grabbed my hand from my lap and held it between hers. "John sounded like a nice guy. Too bad I never got to meet him."

"It's okay, I don't think I ever got to meet him either."

Michelle's shoulders rose with a deep sigh as she patted my hand and watched the weekend crowd bustle along the piers as they window shopped. In the distance, an old church bell chimed, proclaiming the two o'clock hour.

"Oh shit," cried Michelle, standing up with such energy that she knocked her chair to the ground, nearly missing a pack of teenagers. "Kaia is going to be pissed."

"Why?" Kaia is Michelle's girlfriend, the first one she's been able to keep for more than a month.

"Ah, I screwed up last week. It was our three-month anniversary, and I forgot. So, now I'm going to make it up to her by taking her to the aquarium and then strolling over to Little Italy for a nice dinner."

"You really have to remember three month anniversaries?"

"No," said Michelle, snatching up her bag and tossing out her tea, "but after I got crap for missing the two-month anniversary, I should have known that I was in for a celebration each month."

"Oh, okay," I said, not really understanding. Would you have been the type of person who expected a celebration every month? I don't think I would have minded acknowledging the anniversary of our meeting each month. Perhaps Kaia wasn't that weird after all.

"Look, I can't really grasp what you felt for this guy," said Michelle as she looked over to the aquarium on the other side of the bay, "but clearly you're upset about it. Call me tomorrow if you still need to talk. Unfortunately, I doubt I can really talk more today. You going to be okay?" For a moment she stopped fidgeting, despite her eagerness to get moving. Instead, she focused her eyes on mine, waiting to see if I would break.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I answered with a small smile.

"Great," she said with a sigh of relief. She bent down and kissed my forehead before running off to catch an already departing bus.

Alone with my iced coffee and a biting chill, I looked out towards the bay. I have the impression you enjoyed the water. I don't know why, but I could picture you sitting on a bench, your arms stretched across the back of the seat and your legs sitting long and crossed before you. You'd wear a warm smile on your face as the bay breeze brushed your skin and the sun glinted off your honey brown hair.

Now, though, I'll never know. In fact, I really know nothing about you except what our mutual acquaintance's post told me. But I can still rectify this mistake, even if you have moved on to whatever is awaiting us in the afterlife. I had a few hints to get me started, and that's all I really needed.

First was the squirrel on your shirt and a fall league tournament game up at Chapel Park.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen2U.Pro