Late

Late.  I have never been late to work in my whole life. Why today? Of all days, today. I will miss it. The thoughts streamed through Emma’s worried distracted mind as she took a seat on the train. Propping her authentic and thus very expensive tote bag on the seat next to her while maintaining a firm grip on its handle, the litany in her head ceased long enough for her to realize and appreciate the extra room. She’d never been on the train this late. It was nearly empty. The two morning trains she regularly rode were standing room only. No setting your bag down there. No scanning the faces of the other commuters or wondering where they were going. And definitely no noticing the cute guy across from her. Very cute guy.
He noticed her too. Emma was instantly flustered, blushing while dropping her eyes to her lap. Try as she might, she could not remember the last time a guy looked at her. A cute guy, none the less. Well, there was one advantage to being late to work. Late. The thought returned. She was a sales girl at a very exclusive boutique. She was lucky to have such a job. She was even luckier to have kept it as a single mother of a one year old. What a mistake that ordeal had been. At least she hadn’t been stupid enough to marry the father. Lost in her own head again, she found herself looking across the aisle. He was looking too. Dark with smooth and creamy skin, his eyes were piercingly intense, like he wanted something. Now. Emma risked a glimmer of a quick smile. He returned the gesture immediately. It lit his whole face. Her smile grew with his. She flicked her eyes away nervously smoothing her skirt.

In the hazy daylight of her stop, he followed her off the train. Butterflies fluttered. “Excuse me.” He approached. “I am not familiar with this town.” Directions. All he wanted from her was directions. It was fun while it lasted. They walked together as she directed him the market. She had no time to dally. A tourist. She would never see him again anyway. Stopping at the entrance to the boutique, she bid him a nice day. He lingered. Emma’s boss preempted anything they would have said or done by opening the door and inviting Emma in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was gone. The Orla Kiely laptop bag went on clearance at 8:00 am and was gone already. She knew she’d miss it. Of all days to be late. Even the good looking stranger didn’t make her feel better after losing out on that bag. She’d been waiting, saving, crossing her fingers no one else would get to the leather carrying case before her. Today was supposed to be the day. Pouting, she went about her job with no real enthusiasm.  Lunch came and went with her boss relieving every other sales girl but her. Punishment for being late. In time, her work day came to end as she knew it would. Disappointed and hungry, she stepped into the dusky evening. He was standing with his back against the building next door.

Over drinks at the corner pub, he told her he was waiting for the foreign diplomat to speak in the market square later that evening. Basking in the glow of attention, she didn’t care why he was there. Three drinks. Three drinks is too many. She was teetering in front of the washroom mirror talking to herself. Blinking several times, she admitted happily that she was tipsy. In the hallway, again he waited for her. Rasping breath, heaving sighs and groans of excitement echoed in her ears as they couldn’t touch each other fast enough. Her blouse lay open. Her skirt hiked up around her hips. His shirt lay in a heap at their feet. Her smashed lips were from sore brusque kisses that she savored. His hands were everywhere. Hers were stuck at his belt. Only wanting what their bodies desired most, she yanked anxiously at the hips of his jeans. Something small and seemingly unimportant bounced with a slight clatter at their feet, falling from his pocket. The speed with which he pulled away from her willing body left her reeling. Before she could wrap her mind around what changed, he was on his knees before her frantically casting his hands around. What…? He found whatever it was that dropped as she had the thought but not the ability to verbalize it.

Returning to her eye level with the object of his search in one hand and his shirt in the other, he tucked it safely, reverently back into his pocket. “I must go.” Disbelief warred with embarrassment and confusion. She watched him pull the shirt over his head as he turned the corner of the bathroom corridor, disappearing from sight. She was still breathing heavy as she quickly made herself presentable. On trembling legs, in a daze, she walked the short distance to the train. She had to pick up her daughter at the babysitters. A pen. A green felt pen. She was sure that was what he cradled into his pocket as delicately as a glass ornament. What a positively horrid day.

The truly horrific day was the one she woke to. The radio newscaster’s voice cracked on the news that a bomb had been detonated in the town square. The foreign diplomat was the apparent target. He was dead. The suicide bomber was dead. An appalling fifty seven others were also confirmed dead but many were still missing or trapped under the rubble of a collapsed building. The square had been full. The bomber had obviously set his device earlier in the day, under the podium. Initial witness accounts agreed on one thing. He was seen to throw an object at the podium causing the devastating deadly blast. A green pen. Emma called in sick to work.

1000 words