Story-A-Day #27: Cold Call

COLD CALL

An exhalation of warm breath burst from his chest, stinging his nose and clinging to the stubble around his mouth as it condensed into a frozen mist. It was not just a bitterly cold day; it was a nasty one. Even with the warm mittens ensconcing his hands, he could still feel the chill working his way up his fingers and into his hands.

The air was so cold it was almost solid against his exposed fleshy bits. The puffy part of his upper cheek and lower earlobes stung with the impact of air on flesh. He could feel particles of ice forming an abrasive layer on his flesh and burning his skin with their frosty adherence.

He could feel all of this killer cold and yet he had only taken ten steps from his truck to the stupid parking machine. He fumbled with the cold coins in the palm of his hand and let the m slide down to the ends of his fingers, then quickly pulled his mitten off and dropped the coins into the slot. One of the tarnished Loonies poked out from the return slot below. Cursing, he pinched it between his rapidly numbing fingers and crammed it back into the slot.

It popped out in the return slot again. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a different coin and tried it instead. It seemed to take. He took a quick look at the digital read out: 2:14. That should give him plenty of time.

He pounded the green button and grabbed the dud Loonie from the slot, bouncing anxiously up and down as he waited for the parking receipt to print. H could feel prickly heat bouncing around his clenched fist like synapses firing in a brain, a brain encased within a fuzzy wool skull.

The slip finally slid out of the machine with a grinding whir of gears. He grabbed it and dashed back to his truck, a hulking metal bulk that was almost completely obscured in a cloud of swirling exhaust. He fumbled briefly with the door before throwing himself into the slightly warmer interior.

He sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, blowing into his mittens and waiting for the fog on his glasses to disappear. The truck engine sounded like it was wheezing, cycling through an awkward series of high and low revolutions even though it was still in park. He almost smiled in acknowledgement. Neither man nor machine were fit for this kind of weather.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of the building and took a deep breath. Today was not his day. He would be meeting a man named Ted somewhere in that building and he would be trying to secure a contract. For ice machines. He was good at his job, but when a quick glance out his office window would remind Ted that the entire world was frozen solid, it was definitely an uphill battle. Sometimes a cold call was just not meant to happen.

Story-A-Day #26: Sneaking

SNEAKING

He would be in so much trouble if they caught him out of bed. It was already, like, way past nine, which was practically the middle of the night.

Still, he wasn’t really all that tired, and he had just finished reading his book – the whole thing – and didn’t really feel like staying in bed. He tried for a while, but it was boring. Especially knowing that his parents were downstairs watching television. It sounded like a pretty good movie too! The sound of gun shots and a few bad words had made it all the way back to his bedroom and hearing that had made it that much harder to sleep.

He stood in the doorway to his room, pausing for a long time. He was practically a statue standing there, in fact, he tried to see how long he could go without blinking his eyes. Eventually, even though he wasn’t sad, he started to cry. He closed his eyes over and over until the soreness went away.

He took a few tentative steps down the hall, pausing to listen for his parents. Something big exploded in the movie. There was lots of screaming but he could barely hear it because his dad was laughing so loud. Knowing that his dad was happy made the boy smile.

He scooted quickly along the hallway and lay down on his belly in the doorway. He had made it this far, all the way past the bathroom to the living room door, and he would hate to get caught so close to his goal. It wasn’t like a goal in soccer, but his mum had explained to him once that having goals was important and that a goal was something you wanted. That confused him a bit, but he figured that scoring a point in soccer was something you wanted to do, so it was a goal. He didn’t bother explaining it to his mum because he didn’t want to confuse her more.

He slid a little further ahead on his belly and could see his dad’s crossed legs sticking out from where he was sitting on the couch. He couldn’t see his mum, but he knew that it was because she would be lying on his father’s lap. There was a plant on the side table next to the couch, and if he could get there, he could probably peak through the leaves.

The boy eased himself into a crouch, then with a few quick breaths, tiptoed over to the plant. He tucked himself down against the wall just as an explosion rocked the living room to another excited burst of laughter from his dad.

This would be a perfect place to hide out. He had made it to his goal.

The boy leaned against the wall, a small smile on his face. He loved movie night with his parents, especially when he wasn’t really supposed to be there. He knew he would be in trouble if they caught him, but he just wanted to spend a few extra minutes with them. First though, he just needed to rest his eyes. It was tiring work sneaking all the way out here. Besides, it was already way past nine, which was practically the middle of the night.

Yes, he would rest his eyes, just for a minute…

Story-A-Day #25: Anticipation

ANTICIPATION

As a young girl, Christmas had always been an electric time, one filled with the promising excitement of toys galore. It was a simple concept to sum up for a young child and until the age of seven, there was no site more resplendent, more immaculately perfect than a perfectly decked tree spilling gifts across the living room. That coupled with the mystique of a jolly fat man who appeared unannounced at night to make it happen, really defined the moment for her. It was the self-serving phase of Christmas where every moment was about “me”.

Somewhere around the age seven, that had changed. It was weird at first, but watching her parents open the gifts that she had cobbled together in art class and with her spare allowance money, had given her just as much pleasure as opening the expensive and elaborate gifts that her family and Santa had brought for her.

The magic of the holiday faded as certain truths were revealed, but there was always a tinkling in the corners. Even during the late high school and early college years, when catching up with her friends became more of a priority than spending time with her family, there was always a hint of something there.

Now, as she decorated her own home, some of the mysteries of the season became clear. It really was about feelings, and those feelings were deeply ingrained in the nostalgia and love that she had experienced growing up. Her childhood traditions had somehow come along for the ride and had moved with her from under her parents roof, to her own home.

As she hung the decorations up, decorations that she herself had made as a young child, she realized that anticipation was still very much a part of her celebration. That was the magic undercurrent of Christmas.

She could see it now, that progress of anticipation that went from ripping open gifts, to watching others open theirs, to relishing the quieter moments of the season where you could spend real quality time with your family and friends. Turkey dinner, a few cocktails, the smell of shortbread cookies fresh from the oven, the warmth of the tree lights glowing dimly through the room. That was what she was anticipating now. Those little moments that defined the season.

She looked at the metal-framed ornaments hanging on her door one last time and then picked up the box of garland by her feet. There was still so much to do.

Story-A-Day #24: Empty

EMPTY

She was gone. He had left her for two days to go away on business and when he got back, all that remained were a few empty clothes hangers and a note that summed up their relationship of the past year more succinctly than he ever would have dreamed possible.

When he had first stepped into their apartment, he had sensed something was amiss. People have a way of filling a space with more than their possessions; they almost take it over spiritually as well. That was definitely the case with their modest home.

Hell, when they had first moved in, it had taken them a few weeks to make it “feel like home”. That had always seemed like a decorative trend to him – it would never be home until you had set up your things. He realized now though, that it didn’t feel like home until you were able to permeate the spaces with the essence of who you were.

You need to lay your scent, much like a dog would. You needed to breath in that stale air of past resident’s and exhale it back out as your own. Your possessions were an important part of making a building feel like home, but it never really was home until you had filled those dark voids with the essence of your self.

They had been happy in those early months. They had cooked exotic foods, spilled drinks, smoked the odd cigarette, and sweated through sexual marathons. They had done all these things and more to make this place feel more like home and they had succeeded for a while.

Eventually it became clear that it also took people to make a home; more that one for sure. That was evident now that she was gone and had summed up their home, life, and relationship in the note.

He had read that word and it was like the whole space had frosted over. Like his life and all they had ever shared had turned into fragments of ice, with one simple word: “Empty.”

Story-A-Day#23: Reunion

REUNION

The country club was just around the corner, only 20 meters along the snow dusted lane. Another year had passed already.

He shifted his car back into drive and after a deep, steadying breath, eased his way along the remaining length of the tree lined lane and into the crowded parking lot. Every year, in the weeks before Christmas, they got together. Immediately after school it had been at one of the pubs or nightclubs where they had first bonded, but they had outgrown those places years ago.

It was still early, but the dining hall was pretty crowded already. He wandered the room, saying hello to his old friends, trading hugs and handshakes with each new encounter.

These were the people he had grown up with. These were some of his oldest friends, and yet this year they almost seemed like strangers.

The old familiarity was still there but things were different. It wasn't just the new haircuts, the photos of growing children, or the extra inches on waist lines. It was more than that this year.

He looked around the room at the faces of the guys he had played football with, his study partners from math class, even the girl he had lost his virginity to, as frail and ethereal today as she had been all those years ago.

It was great to see them all again, but this year was the first time he had arrived at the reunion also knowing it might be his last. That's what made it so different.

He paused under the mistletoe, a glass of wine in his hand, and hoped the night would last forever.

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Story-A-Day #22: Breaking In

BREAKING IN

I was cool as a cucumber; completely nonchalant. Of that I was certain. I wandered past the imposing facility and barely afforded a direct glance. From the perspective of an average observer, I was just a dude out for a walk. Of course the people guarding the facility were not average observers, they were machine gun wielding gorillas chuffing at the air.

It was a little tense, but as I passed the facility, I noticed a few things. None of them were good.

An impossibly tall fence lined the perimeter, a curl of razor wire lining its top like a twisted set of titanium shark teeth. Where the fence met the building, a pair of turret like guard towers rose up from the courtyard, and perched statue-like within each tower was a guard, an intensely focused, heavily armed guard.

I had scouted the rear of the building a few days earlier and knew that it was not an access point. In fact, the only feasible way in was either through the front door, or from the roof.

I wandered into the forest that lined the open expanses surrounding the building and positioned myself behind a decent blind of dense sumacs and shrubs. The front door was the only legitimate entrance, but it was guarded in a fashion that made the term “heavy” seem like an understatement. I watched as the armed guards cycled positions; every hour on the half.

After a few hours, I wandered a little deeper into the forest and found a solid oak tree that stretched up into the forest canopy. I carefully made my way up the branches seeking a nice vantage point. Half way up I froze.

There had been a small sound below. I probably would not have noticed it had I not been on high alert already. I waited a few moments and then saw the source of the noise, not a patrolling guard, but a tawny hided deer.

I continued up the tree until I found my perch. It was a fairly modest sized facility really, a nondescript rectangle of dull grey concrete placed at the mathematical centre of the large open clearing that surrounded it. From the edge of the forest to the cold grey walls there was nothing but grass and a ringed dirt track used for perimeter patrols. There were no ditches, trees, shrubs, or cover of any kind.

I pulled out a small range finder and scanned the roof of the building. There it was, a single vent that provided the airflow to the facility. It was a Dittman EX-9 Series, plenty of space to weasel through and decent sized shafts. It looked like that was going to be my in, the only thing I needed now was a way to get up onto the roof.

This would take a little more planning after all. I figured it would but time was of the essence and I was starting to worry that I had wasted too much of it all ready. I was going to need backup, and I would need to call it in soon, but first I had some schematics to review.

Based on my recon today, I had about a 0.001% margin of error on this. Anything outside of that would mean a bullet in the brain and no body for my funeral; not exactly an option. I needed to get in, get out, and get the hell away before they knew I’d even been there.

I needed a better plan.

Story-A-Day #21: A Perfect Place

A PERFECT PLACE

She had returned every day since she had found this place and would sit next to the creek for hours on end. It was her perfect place, her secret refuge from the immensity of the world.

The mossy banks provided a perfect perch and she would languish away the days, content in her solitude. It was an oasis, and her secret little place allowed her mind to wander. Thoughts would come and thoughts would go, and she was happy to let them drift away without consequence.

She stared into the smooth waters, marveling at the clarity of the skies and the trees that were reflected back at her.

She had spent most of the morning breaking off small pieces of twig and throwing them up stream so that she could watch them drift lazily back past her and on towards the faster currents just around the bend. She lay back in the billowing grass that tickled her cheeks and watched the clouds waft by in their warm sea of wide-open blue.

Around noon she grew restless and decided she had done enough cloud gazing reverie.

She opened her backpack and ate the small lunch that she had packed. When she was done, she packed away the garbage and gathered a handful of small pebbles. One by one she tossed them into the water, watching as the rings undulated slowly outward before fading into nothing.

A fat sucker fish swam into view and she watched as it paused just off the creek’s bank where it drifted lazily in place, a random flick of the tail more than sufficient to keep it stationed in the soft current.

It grew steadily warmer as they day progressed. It was like that on these mid summer afternoons and by the time the forest had filled with the droning chorus of cicadas, the heat was almost unbearable.

She cast a nervous glance around her to reaffirm that this place was not one that would be stumbled upon by accident, then slowly rose to her feet. She slowly stripped off her clothing and immersed herself in the cooling water. The cool trickle of water over her sun baked flesh was a feeling like no other. When she had swum enough, she climbed back out and lay down in the grass to let the sun’s warm embrace dry her off before getting dressed again.

This was definitely a perfect place. Birds fluttered past overhead, chirping their happy music and squirrels chattered excitedly in the dark tops of the evergreens, but there were no other noises. No traffic, no car horns, no people.

She was happy she had found this place. For now it would be her secret, but maybe one day she would find someone important enough to share it with. For now though, she was quite content in her own secret little world.