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PART THREE: He arrived at his apartment building. After trundling up the grimy staircase, shouldering the door open and dumping his books on a table, he hit the play button of his answering machine. One of his friends had left an annoyingly cheery message about how he and his dad were off to some veteran’s meeting or other. Both of these men had served their country at one time or another, the first in WWII, automatically becoming a hero. His friend, however, had served over in Iraq, much to the disdain of his other friends. The current message asked him if he wanted to go for lunch at some bar. Rob thought this ridiculous. Since when had he go places, at all? He normally stayed home to watch reruns of Star Trek. He didn’t like staying up late at night anyway. So, pushing delete, he erased the idea from his mind. Looking in the mirror, he glared at his image. Why couldn’t he look decent? He was going to meet up with a woman. First, the glasses would have to go. Wearing them in the first place was rather foolish; he looked like a bug in them. He couldn’t see very well, either. He wrenched them off and let them crash to the floor. Oh, well. Even with the glasses off of his face, he could still see the grubby sweatshirt. That would definitely have to go. He grabbed one of the incongruous blue dress shirts from his closet, one that he never had worn, but his mother kept sending him at Christmas. It would have to do. “Here goes nothing,” he said aloud to his reflection. With that, he picked up his wallet and walked out of the apartment, all traces of his nerd-like persona left there to return to later. He was on a pilgrimage. Yeah, pilgrimage seemed to work. A pilgrimage was exactly what he was about to endeavor - go off, explore places he’d never been and all in all, reach a higher plane of existence. Oh, the philosophical connotations linked to the idea! He started down the road. But, no. He must behave gentlemanly now. Time to put on the chivalrous side. The nerd inside would have to wait for him, back at the apartment. He was going to lunch with a Jane Austen addict. The men in those novels were all very gentlemanlike and obeyed wishes of their female counterparts, whether they realized it or not. Sweat broke out under his arms. Had he put on deodorant? Whoops. He almost missed the turn for the block on which the coffee shop sat, so distracted was he by his possible body odor. Ah, the coffee shop. Judith sat smack in the center of the tiny place; he could see her through the glass door. He pushed on the door. It held still. He pushed harder. Why wouldn’t it move? He rammed the door with his shoulder. It was after he removed his now-sore shoulder from the door when he saw the pull sign in the big, capital letters. At eye level. After pulling it open and walking in, he heard soft laughter. Judith had seen the whole debacle and was now chortling, her dog-eared copy of Northanger Abbey covering her mouth. “So much for subtlety,” he said, pulling out a chair and gently sinking into it. His face felt hot. Only he could manage such a ridiculous entrance. “I’ll give you points for humor, grace at realizing your mistake and props for arriving almost exactly on time,” she stated calmly, the elusive grin returning. “So, apart from philosophy, theology and a certain fascination for doors, what are your interests? For instance, what would you like to drink?” she queried. “Lemonade’s always good,” he answered. “What would you like?” Fishing out his wallet, he stood up, indicating he would - gallantly - pay. “Cappuccino with cocoa sprinkles,” she said, also standing up. “And I invited you, so I’ll pay.” She said it so decidedly, almost fiercely, that Rob sat down and let her do it. He’d find a way next time to show his gallant side. Tat is, if she didn’t run out of the café screaming this time. Judith went up and placed the order. She came back with a number and placed it on the table. “So, you’re a fan of Miss Austen?” he asked as she sat down. The answer of course was, duh. It was just to say something, really. “Yes. I have been since I was about six. My mother has a huge omnibus of all her completed works. Whenever I had nothing to do, I’d look in fascination at the black-and-white pictures in fascination. They were almost frightening in some emotional way, I thought,” she spoke enthusiastically, using her hands to illustrate what she was saying. “When I was 12, I read Pride and Prejudice, cover to cover. I loved Lizzie Bennet’s strong character, especially as she’s a female in early 18th Century England and--am I boring you?” “No.” And it was true. She put such passion into what she said that he couldn’t help but be interested. “What’s your big interest?” she asked. “Great Britain,” he answered, surprising himself. Where, exactly, had that come from? “I love their rich literature, history, culture and music. They’re such a unique people.” “Oh, I know what you mean,” she cooed. “If not for the Beatles, I dread to think how bleak my childhood could have been!”
PiroFanMongoose · Sat Dec 29, 2007 @ 05:27pm · 0 Comments |
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