Candle in the Attic Window(29)
She awoke to rain misting her face. It finally felt like September. She glanced at the clock and saw it was 7:00. She had gotten nearly three hours of sleep, the most she’d had at one time in weeks. But instead of rested, she felt edgy. Eyes haunted her mind as she got up. Dark eyes that searched hers.
The bathroom was a mess. A fine drizzle of hair covered the toilet seat and long strands clumped together on the floor. Her braid, now coming undone at the top, was on the small ledge between medicine chest and sink. She picked it up, surprised at how much it weighed, and brought it with her to the kitchen as she smoked her morning cigarette.
“Well, what am I going to do with this – glue it back on? Send it to Mom?” She giggled, as she thought of her mother opening up a package to find a chunk of hair, and tossed the braid in the paper sack she used for garbage. She’d take it to the dumpster before going to work. Which, she realized, she had less than an hour to get to.
She grabbed a clean Family Mart shirt before hitting the shower. She kept the water lukewarm and enjoyed the goose bumps it produced. Such a relief from the heat of yesterday. Hopefully, summer was over for good. She wet her hair, running her hands through it until they reached empty air, still expecting to find a long mane. She smiled a little to herself at her forgetfulness and closed her eyes as she lathered in shampoo. It felt good to have so little to go through. She found herself thinking of the man she had seen the night before, how he had looked up before walking on. But had he really seen her? What if he had? And where had she seen him before? Her mind wandered as she went through the motions of shaving and washing, and focused on work. Family Mart, the grocery store where she was manager and sole employee of the tiny floral department. She hated the store itself and the job didn’t pay well, but she enjoyed the plants and flowers. Something about their crispness, their perfection, appealed to her.
And then Lorena remembered where she had seen him before. It was a Friday evening, not the busiest of times for her department. He had shown up wanting a white rose. All she had were the usual red, yellow and pink, and some that were white with pink-tinged edges. He selected one of those and, when she wrapped and handed it to him, his hand had touched hers. Only for a second, but she shivered, remembering. She hadn’t noticed much about him until that point, but whatever it was that came through with his touch really made her look at him. His green eyes caught orangish flecks from the overhead lights. Those eyes were the most remarkable thing about him, dark and enticing. His body was skinny, too thin, dark clothes hanging off of him like an exotic scarecrow, but exquisite just the same.
The water became cold, startling her out of reverie and into the present. She had accomplished something. She knew where she had seen him before. Small victory, but it made her morning brighter.
Her mind continued flashing pictures as she dried off. Of the dark coat. The hair. His eyes. Why was she so concerned with someone she had seen for a grand total of six or seven minutes? Because he was her ideal. Sure, she didn’t know a thing about him, but all of her fantasies to this point had involved a tall man with dark hair. His face changed with her fantasies, but his features remained constant. Long, thin arms and legs that were lightly muscled. Long fingers on strong hands. What if she were to walk downstairs tonight and just go up, as in one of her late-night fantasies, and put her arms around him? What would he do? Probably tell me to get the hell out of his face.
Work passed in a blur. It was order day, so she spent her time clipping stems, pricing, rotating product and making arrangements. She did the work by rote, nodding and smiling at the infrequent customers, clipping and pricing, but the whole time, her mind was on the man with the hypnotic eyes. Who is he and why do I keep thinking about him?
That night, Lorena tried to sleep but kept waking up to peer out the window, expecting him to be outside. But, of course, he wasn’t, and the only thing she gained was more circles under her eyes. The rest of the week was much the same. She saw him from the window twice more and both times, he appeared to be watching her apartment. Of course this was imagination, wishful thinking ... but it satisfied her. And each night, she looked for him, hoping for more than a glimpse, for the courage to go outside and speak to him. Her nightly walks had stopped; she was afraid she would miss him if she left her watch at the window.
The sickness began a few days later. Even the thought of food repulsed her. Some of the other employees said something about a flu going around, but everyone else seemed to get sick for a day and bounce right back. Lorena languished. She was not sure whether the fatigue was the result of her late-night wakings or from being ill. She woke at night to smoke and keep vigil, before falling into uneasy dreams.
The following week, she was sent home from work, with instructions not to come back until she had a doctor’s note clearing her from illness. She dragged herself home and immediately fell asleep. She woke four hours later. Her head pounded with every beat of her heart and her mouth was fuzzy. Lorena closed her eyes and tried not to think. Her eyes throbbed with every breath, white flashes colouring the movement. She opened her eyes and the flashes persisted at the edge of her vision. Her stomach roiled, clenching and releasing, until she couldn’t take it anymore. She made it to the bathroom and dry-heaved for what felt like hours before a thin stream of bile made its way out. Her eyes watered, nostrils burned. She turned on the faucet and stuck her mouth on it, tasting the grimy, unwashed metal.