Perfect Match

Perfect Match

         Fredrick is leaving the job on a Friday evening.  It is ten minutes after eight and he is glad to start the weekend.  It was a good day answering phones but he wants to listen to music instead of complaints.  He prides himself with the ability to listen to people and arrive at an amicable solution quickly.  He is still lost when it comes to solving his dateless nights.  He will settle for Chinese food, music, and a good book.  As he exits the building through the large glass doors, the heat of the day greets him.  The news report on the television in the elevator states the high for today is 103 degrees.  With the humidity approaching seventy percent, it feels like someone just placed a damp washcloth over his face.  Leaving the comfort of the air condition, he races to his car in the parking garage.  He can turn the air condition on and then drive home cool as a cucumber.  He walks to the corner and before he crosses the street, a sight halts his progress. 

         At the edge of the curb a pair of shoes sits lonely and vacant.  It is not like a person kicked off of a pair of slippers.  They rest neatly beside each other.  They face in the direction toward the sidewalk.  They are open back and open toed slip on sandals.  The heal sits less than an inch away from the drop off to the curb.  The painted yellow edge makes the black soles stand out.  The concrete background is the vanilla canvas of this scene of abandonment.  The single red cloth band going across the top looks clean.  The three or four inch strap forms the instep in the shoe.  The top remains up like the feet are still inside.  Who put these shoes here?  Why would anyone place these perfectly good shoes at the edge of the curb?  How long have they been in this spot?  None of the other people notice the shoes.  They walk by and never look down.  Fred looks around to see if someone is coming to claim their footwear.  He steps back into the shade of a tree since the sun is still going down.  The simple item intrigues him.  His mind refuses to arrive at a decent reason for the missing female owner of the rose slip on sandals.  The sidewalk is too hot for anyone to proceed without adequate protection.  He did not see the pair of shoes when he entered the building this morning.  None of this made sense. 

         “Are you waiting for someone?”  The figure speaks as he rounds the corner of the building.  Fred did not notice the man before.  He turns in a startled response. 

         “No, I am just looking around.  I am wondering about the shoes over there.”  He motions his head in the direction of the shoes. 

         “I know I put them there.  Do they belong to you?”  He looks at Freddy waiting for an answer. 

         “If they do not belong to you, and you put them there, how did you get the shoes?”  If this was a cartoon, a big question mark would appear over Fred’s head.  The street art is now more confusing. 

         “Do you want to go have a drink and talk about it?  I can tell you the whole story in the comfort of an air conditioned bar.  There is a place down the street.”  He begins to walk towards the bar. 

         “I do not drink.  We can go inside this building.  There is a bench inside.”  Fredrick is not about to go anywhere with a man who just admitted to carrying around women’s shoes.  He wants to keep this encounter on safe ground.  Fred outweighs him by thirty pounds and is two inches taller but he is not yet willing to take a chance. 

         They start up the few stairs to go inside the building and Fred turns back to look at the street.  “Are you going to leave the shoes?” 

         “Leave them there.  I told you they are not mine.  I will explain when we get inside.  I am burning up after the long walk.”  He goes through the door before Fred.  The bench is in plain view as soon as they walk into the lobby.  He flops down on the long stone resting place.  The seats square off around an inside terrarium.  He kicks off the shoes and starts to rub his feet.  “My name is Charlie.  I had to walk a mile in those shoes.”

         “OK, now I am intrigued.  How did you get the shoes?” 

         “Just like you I found the shoes at the edge of the curb.  It was a mile away.  I was told each city block is one tenth of a mile, so I walked ten blocks.  I took the shoes off and left them where you found them.  I put them there exactly the way I found them.” 

         “Why did you have the shoes on?” 

         “I know it does not make sense.  I need to tell you the whole thing.  When I found the shoes, there was a note under the shoes.  It said;”

To get to the treasure true

You must walk a mile in my shoe

Keep it straight and at the end you’ll see

Stop and at dusk look me up

         “Charlie that does not rhyme let me see the note.”

         Fred takes the note from Charlie’s hand.  He looks at the fancy lettering on the paper.  The calligraphy must have taken time and expert penmanship.  It is not computer generated.  It is written free hand.  “The last line is not, look me up.  It says, stop and after dusk look up ME.” 

         “I thought it was trying to keep the rhyme.  I changed the line so it would make sense.  What is the difference?”

         “The M E is capitalized.  We are at the back side of the Mellon Empire building.  You must look up the building after dusk not at dusk.” 

         They both look simultaneously out the glass doors.  The sun is going down and the long shadows are moving on the pavement outside.  Fred stands up and slowly walks toward the doors.  Charlie hurries to put his shoes back on.  The two men move to the resting place of the shoes.  Fred glances at the western sky.  The red-orange glow darkens quickly.  The photocells trigger the building lights.  They peer at the flickering lamp about fifteen stories up.  When the light is fully illuminated, a reflection message appears on the wall.  The non business side of the building is a hotel.  They both move to run back inside.  Freddy stops to pick up the shoes and places them inside his lunch bag.  The unraveling puzzle draws both men inside. 

         At the front desk Charlie speaks to the hotel desk clerk.  “Who is in room 203?” 

         “We cannot give you any information on our guests.  I can ring the room and give them your name.  If they know you, we can unlock the elevator and let you go up.  Can I have your name?” 

         Charlie hesitates to answer the clerk.  Fred takes over the conversation.  “My name is Fredrick Simple.  I work on the other side on the twelfth floor.  We are on a treasure hunt.  I am not sure we need to know who is in room 203.” 

         “You are correct.  The occupant of the room is not significant.  I am instructed to give this letter to anyone on a treasure hunt asking about that room.  Enjoy the hunt.”  He hands Fred the envelope.  They walk away from the desk and return to the stone bench. 

You need to go west to the watery road.

Then find the cage where they raise the load.

I hope you are not afraid of heights.

You must lean over the corner with all your might.

You will find the tallest building being erected.

If you rise to the top, you’ll move closer to the treasure perfected.

         “What in the world does that mean?  Who is this person playing games?  I am tired and my feet hurt.”  Charles rubs his knees at the joint where his thigh muscles attach. 

         “I have a car in the garage across the street.  We can use it to find the next location.  I think the watery road is River Road.  It is west of here about eleven miles.  We can look for the new construction site when we get there.” 

         In minutes they are on their way west.  About two miles before they reach River Road, they start the decline to a lower elevation.  From the apex of the hill they view numerous construction sites.  From a half a mile away, they can see there are only three sites with tall buildings.  They proceed to the tallest one.  The site is void of workers and there are no security guards.  They park the car on the street and walk right through the open contractor’s gate.  It occurs to Fred their progression is far too easy.  Charlie walks along side his new found partner but his steps are getting cautious and slow.  Fred attributes the hesitation to aching feet. 

         “Are your feet alright?  We can rest if you need a moment.”  Fred does not want to stop.  This is more excitement than he has had in a long time.  He hopes the adrenaline is pushing Charlie also. 

         “Do we have to go all the way up there?  How many stories does this building have?”  The anxiety raises the pitch of his voice.  There is sweat on Charles’ upper lip and a drip of perspiration is moving along his hairline.  He frantically wipes with the sleeve of his pale yellow shirt.  The pupils are already dilated due to the low light in the yard.  He has no idea his eyeballs are beginning to bulge.  Fred is vaguely aware of the onset of the panic attack. 

         “They have many protective barriers to prevent the workers from being harmed.  I am sure we are in no danger.  Come on lets look for the next clue.” 

         Before they enter the construction elevator, Freddy turns the power breaker on.  The lights come on inside the elevator cage and the entire shaft illuminates.  The ride to the top is full of mechanical noises.  Fred finds comfort in the lights showing him each inch of the ascent.  Nothing gives Charles the relief he craves.  His knuckles whiten as he grasps the metal cage.  He releases a groan at the clang of their arrival on the twentieth floor. 

         “Well here we are on the top at last.”  Fred finds the power breaker for the roof.  When he turns it on, an air compressor starts to run and the string of lights start shinning.  The pathway on the roof is very well lit.  Fred slowly pans the roof and rotates 360 degrees.  When he scopes the elevator again, he sees Charlie.  He is still in the corner of the cage holding on with both hands.  “I am going to need your help.  We have come this far, I do not want to give up now.  Try to focus on the treasure.” 

         Charlie pushes himself from the cage.  He gathers some composure as he clings to the most center section of the roof.  At the third corner they see a safety harness and lanyard strap tied securely to a metal post.  Without hesitation Fred climbs into the harness and buckles each belt tight.  He looks back at Charlie. 

         “I am going to take a look over the side.  I may have to dangle a little but the harness will prevent me from falling to my death.”  He stoops under the rail and steps over the metal cable looped around the edge of the roof.  These braided metal cables whine in distress from Fred pushing pass their protection.  As he leans out slowly he can see the edges of a message.  He lays flat on his stomach and extends over the edge.  The construction material is stacked below to form a word.  He must stand up and lean out over the edge.  He is reluctant to release the corner post he is holding.  There is a light extending from the edge of the skeleton building and it shines on the ground where the material is organized.  He has to let go and trust the harness.  His heart pounds faster as he unfolds his grip.  The slack in the strap disappears when his body reaches a forty-seven degree angle from the standing position.  A squeal comes from Charles as the taunt strap holds his partner.  This is the most action he can muster from his panicked body.  Charles’ pulse is racing faster than the daredevil’s heart suspended over the edge.  The effort pays off.  He can plainly see what is written.  It is time to move back to the safety of the roof. 

         “I am ready to come in now.  Charles, pull me back to the roof.”  There is no movement from Charles.  The request sounds again with a little more urgency.  Fred thinks for a moment while he looks down at the ground.  The elevator did not make a sound so he did not go back to the ground level.  Besides that, Charlie would not leave without knowing what the message said.  Fred has the car keys in his pocket.  Charlie must have fainted.  The only response comes from the air compressor cycling on and off.  Fred reaches behind his back with his left arm but it misses the strap.  The heels of his shoes slide down to the metal edge.  The leather oxfords do not grip the sturdy beam.  He suddenly feels self-conscious about his 187 pounds.  Is the strap designed for his mass?  He did not stop to look at the rating before donning the protection.  The twist and grab with the right hand is successful.  He turns and pulls himself back to the roof.  He marches toward the man that did not answer his calls.  His anger is reaching a boil when he realizes Charles did not faint.  The waters of compassion and understanding douse his furious flame as he moves closer.  Charlie is in a balled up fetal position.  He is rocking back and forth on the rounds of his butt.  The whimpers coming from the man make a pitiful noise. 

         “I could not move.  I wanted to help you but I could not get close to the edge.  I was afraid of falling.  You had the protection on your body.  One slip and I am a dead man.” 

         “Come on, let’s get down from here.”  Freddie enters the elevator first.  Charlie follows sheepishly. 

         They start the decent with only the sounds of the pulleys and motor.  Charlie breaks the silence.  “I thought you may have been a serial killer.  You lured me up to that height by this elaborate plan only to push me to my death.  The fear locked me up.”

         As the elevator reaches the bottom level, Fred opens the door.  He holds it for Charlie.  “I was thinking the same thing about you as I dangled from the edge.  You may be a killer.  I do not know you at all.  You could have planted these clues.  I think we need to trust each other if we are going any further with this hunt.” 

         “I’m sorry I froze up there.  I should have told you I have a fear of heights.  I do trust you.  There are plenty of weapons around this site you could have used to do me in.  Did you find what we were looking for?” 

“Yes I did.  Come over here so I can show you.”  They walk over to the stacks of construction material.  There is sheetrock, metal studs, and beams organized in a word.  “From the top this pile spells ME with an exclamation point.  This open paint bucket is the point of the exclamation.  It did not look like a bucket from up there.  This is what we are looking for.”  In the midst of the other items this pail is the intentional focal point.  Fred retrieves a letter from the bucket.  He unravels it to reveal the message. 

Go to the place where the greyhounds run.

The people going and coming are not having fun.

Their traveling puts dirt on the floor.

You must mop it up to find much more.

The bottom of the bucket holds the answer to the lock.

Inside the number of Clinton will mark the spot.

Your diligence will tell me when it’s done.

I wait to see if you are the one.

         It was so obvious from the note they needed to head towards the Greyhound Bus station.  Fredrick’s focus is sharp.  Charles’ heart rate returns to the normal level during the ride.  They turn the radio off.  Charles reads the poem aloud.  After the third time, he reads to himself.  He wants to prove to Fred he is an asset and not a major liability.  He attempts to decipher the code before Fred does.  They park close to the doors when they arrive.  They get the spot on the other side of the handicap spaces.  Fred grabs his lunch bag with the abandoned shoes inside.  They each grab a door handle and swing the glass portals wide.  They enter the huge room.  Both of their chests heave a simultaneous breath.  Each eye anticipates the discovery of the clue.  The heads move side to side and up and down.  Anything in this large arena could point them to the treasure.  It is Charlie who shouts and points first. 

         “There it is.  It is over there.”  Freddie looks in the direction of the lockers.  Above the lockers there is a picture of the station manager.  His name is Clinton Numbers.  They actually take their time as they walk over to the wall.  It is as if they want to savor the moment of triumph.  They stand gaping at the balding man with the extremely sparse comb over.  There are no other words or images around the manager’s picture.  Charles speaks from his frustration.  “What do we do now?  I see the new mop leaning against the wall.  Where is the bucket?  I do not see anything inside of his name, Numbers.” 

         “It did not say inside the name.  It said inside the number of Clinton.  Let’s look inside the locker with the number 42.  Our forty-second president was William Jefferson Clinton.”  Fred opens the locker and both heads almost collide trying to gain a view.  Inside the locker there is a bucket.  Fredrick removes the pail and places it on the floor in front of the lockers.  Charles retrieves the mop and hands it over to Fred.  He puts the lunch bag over to the side.  He plunges the mop head into the bucket.  The water disappears into the strands.  The wet janitor’s tool plops on the floor.  Charles views the bottom of the pail. 

         “The answer to the lock is a key.”  He lifts the locker key from the bucket.  The smile spreads across his face.  The gleam returns to his eyes.  There is a skip in his step as he moves toward the new locker.  He inserts the key and turns it to open the door.  The click reassures him he has the right locker.  He pulls the contents from the hiding spot.  The smile develops into a gleeful chuckle.  The bundle of bills rises to his cheek.  His fingers flutter a money breeze into his face.  He turns to Fred.  “Now I can buy you anything you want to drink.  I finally found the treasure.” 

         Fred does not share the same exuberance.  Something is missing from the puzzle.  His mind gropes for a different conclusion.  “I think there is more than we have right now.” 

         “Look Fred, this is what I came here for.  This is five thousand dollars.  I found the treasure.  There is no more for me.  I am done.”  Charlie back peddles away from the lockers.  He no longer desires to continue the hunt.  He is satisfied with the band of cash.  He reaches into his shirt pocket to get the last clue.  He tosses the folded piece of paper in Fred’s direction.  It lands on the floor between the two men.  As Fredrick stoops to get the clue, Charlie bolts from the bus station.  His sore feet offer no resistance to his flight.  He runs through the doorway and into the night.  Freddie looks up from the floor.  He shakes his head at the situation. 

         Fred reads through the note again.  Some of the clues have already led to their conclusion.  His mind sticks at the line about mopping the floor.  The person who wrote these notes uses the words efficiently.  The words, must mop have to mean something.  Freddie returns to the lockers and he starts to mop the floor.  He begins under the locker numbered 42.  He continues to the other end where the money was found.  He does not scrub the floor because it already looks clean.  He lightly runs the wet mop over the tiles.  He looks back at locker 42.  His eyes show the satisfaction.  The dampness on the floor is causing letters to appear on the floor.  The liquid from the bucket must be some type of indicator solution.  Fredrick begins to ring out the mop over the remaining letters.  He steps back to view the full passage.  This is not a clever poem.  The words are plain.  The message is clear. 

‘You are the one with the fortitude to continue.  Your diligence has granted you an audience with Meme.  Please turn around and look.’

         Fredrick turns around to see the person responsible for his journey.  There is no one there.  A homeless person sleeps on the uncomfortable bench.  A mother and her child are on the far side waiting for their bus.  His view lifts up to the balcony.  He did not see her there before.  He knows he would have noticed.  Her curly red hair could signal him from a thousand miles away.  Her eyes absorb his attention.  The redness of her lips rivals the color of the hair.  The light summer dress hangs over her physique as the paintings in a museum.  She floats to the stairs and commences the cascade of flowing beauty.  A conversation continues between his eyes and her decent.  Fredrick meets her at the bottom of the staircase.  He smiles up at her.  She is still two steps high. 

         “Do you have my shoes?” 

         “Yes I do, they are right over here.”  Fredrick takes her hand and brings her down to the floor.  Her hand fits softly within his palm.  They walk over to the lockers and get the lunch pail.  They take a seat adjacent to the lockers.  Fred kneels at her feet so he can place the sandals on her feet.  He just noticed they are bare.  Her face captivates his glance as he struggles to look away to her feet. 

         “Thank you for bringing my sandals.  I like these shoes.  They are so very comfortable.  I like to feel the caress of nice things.” 

         “I am so glad you invited me here.  My name is Freddy Simple.  I am certainly happy you write good clues.  It is nice to meet you Meme.” 

         “It is nice to meet you Fred.  Not many people commit to seeing things through these days.  Your actions today tell me a lot about you.  I like what I see.”  Meme sinks further into Fred’s eyes. 

         “I do the best that I can.  It makes me feel a major sense of accomplishment when I give it all I have.” 

         “That is all I expect.  What are you doing for the rest of the weekend?” 

         “We have a good start.  Let’s keep it going.”  They leave with the treasured promise between their hearts.  The shoes are a perfect match.